#I complained to the customer service and they offered me a new seat

[niuniente]

This train has 6 cars and one of them have an upstairs that is silent area. Why the HELL do you take a seat for your business trip from the ONLY silent area from 5,5 cars to talk to your phone for hours? The rest of the train is for your folk.

What part of the silent is so hard to understand? I paid extra for the silence. If I wanted to listen to someone’s phone call, I would have gone to a non-silence area.

[fuyussi]

“yea, i wanna ride you- I MEAN”

characters: sano manjiro, ryuuguji ken, kokonoi hajime, haitani ran, haitani rindou

cw: ur sexy and the boys r dumb, suggestive, mainly fluff

a/n: hot mechanic trope except you’re the hot mechanic, might do more characters if this does well

Mikey

it’s obvious when he enters your shop just to gawk at you sometimes because he rarely ever goes to an auto shop for servicing, he’s usually able to fix it himself. so when he starts turning up at your shop every few weeks after the first time he couldn’t fix it himself, it’s clearly not for “bike repairs”. also doesn’t even try to hide the fact because all he does is misplace a tiny part and suddenly his bike is broken and needs your help, even thought it literally takes like 5 minutes to fix.

gets very giddy if you compliment his bike, please ask him about it. also gives you random food ratings from places he eats at, he just wants to talk to you more and hear your voice tbh please entertain him he’s very cute.

this goes on for about a month or two before you decide to just give him a little push. so one day he comes into the shop and this time it’s because his seat feels off, and an idea forms in your head. he’s talking about a new katsu-don place he had lunch at, rambling away while you hum in acknowledgement. after fiddling with the seat for a bit, you call him over, telling him to take a seat to feel if it’s ok. as he gets comfortable on his bike, you execute your plan. “so how is it? comfortable?” you ask, casually placing one hand on the seat right behind his butt and the other hand on one of the bike handles, caging him almost.

“yea, i-” mikey swallows, throat going dry as he realises just how close you are to him. he can clearly see your pretty eyes and your lips that he’s only had glances of. “‘m comfortable, yea” mumbling, he turns away flustered, he hopes you aren’t close enough to hear how loud his heart is pounding. you can see the tips of his ears starting to redden, and his eyes looking everywhere except you.

“by the way, you keep telling me about these food places but when are you actually gonna ask me out?” anyway you had the pleasure of seeing flustered mikey stammer out an invitation to lunch the next day lol.

Draken

now this is funny because he’s a mechanic himself. and you two are kinda business rivals?? same business near to each other after all. but he can’t help who he finds hot and you are smokin’. anyway draken comes into your shop frequently to ask for spare parts “because he’s ran out and he has yet to receive parts from his supplier”. in fact he’s coming in so often that you offer to give him the name of your own supplier because his just seems unreliable.

eventually evolves into him coming in to ask for “help” because at this point he’s running out of excuses to see you. god bless whenever you decide to work outside in just your tank top and overalls hanging from your hips. literally would shift his position so that you’re in his line of sight. loves talking to you about mechanic stuff and complaining about unreasonable customers because it feels like you’re bonding.

your relationship evolves very organically though because draken actually pulls lmfao, he slowly gets to know you and he would only actually ask you out if he feels that you may return his feelings though. if you don’t, he’s still very content with friendship.

which is funny because you’ve been dropping mad hints and he still doesn’t get it, nobody just chooses to work outside in 30 degree heat with the humidity when you’ve got air conditioning bro please. please just ask him out he may take forever to pick up your hints.

Kokonoi

he doesn’t even ride bikes so he’s got no reason to visit your shop. so the very first time he saw you was when he accompanied someone to get their bike serviced and he tripped over an open toolbox on the floor because he was too busy pretending he wasn’t staring at you. either way he was very embarrassed and you were now looking directly at him which only furthered his embarrassment lol.

and thanks to that he didn’t want to show his face around you but at the same time he really wanted to see you. thus began his new weird travel routes that includes walking past your shop at least once a day. takes every chance to accompany someone to your auto shop, at this point it’s pretty obvious to everyone else, especially when he offers to pay because he thinks that’ll impress you somehow.

honestly you didn’t think twice about him because you thought he was another pretentious rich guy flaunting his wealth. but you start to notice how he’s never here alone, always accompanying someone and yet he’s always paying. and you swear you see him passing by the shop frequently. when you question him about it out of curiosity though, you were surprised to see his nervous face. he tells you the truth, that he’s only here to see you and he pays because he’s trying to impress you.

not gonna lie you laughed. mainly out of surprise but still, his heart stung a little. he got a little defensive, but noticed you wrote something on the receipt as you hand it to him.

‘(xxx)-xxx-xxxx call me ♡’

Ran

you’re rindou’s mechanic actually. for whatever reason ran’s usual mechanic was closed so he went to the one that rindou usually goes to, and does he wish he came here sooner. when he walked in your back was facing him and all he could see was your sweaty toned back as you’re hunched over working on someone’s car. didn’t help that you were only in a tank top and overalls with the top part undone and the pants portion hanging low on your hips.

and when you finally noticed his presence and turn around…. wow is it hot in here or what lol. has to physically stop himself from staring at that the strip of exposed skin between where your tank top ends and the top of your pants. sweating fr he’s just glad he can keep a straight face and hold a normal conversation. he does his best to keep the conversation going as you’re working on his bike.

a smooth talker, he’s really about to “wait so what does that do again?” his way into your pants. and you know it’s an act because rindou sometimes complains to you about his brother, but damn you didn’t realise he was hot as well tf. so you indulge him a little, carrying on the conversation.

“ehhh, i didn’t know that. maybe i should come in more often and you can tell me more.” lying through his teeth, doing the absolute most to get any reason to see you again. or at least get your number.

“no worries, i’m sure rindou would be happy to relay the message, don’t trouble yourself to come down here :)” too bad you were in a teasing mood. ran’s eye was almost twitching because you’re now done with his bike and he’s about to pay, but he has yet to get your number or name for that matter. somehow you’ve dodged all his attempts and he’s starting to think you’re denser than a brick. worse come to worse he could just ask rindou for your number but that’s like admitting that he failed at wooing you.

“you know what, i might start coming to you for my regular servicing,” ran looks over his bike, genuinely impressed by your skill.

“you can come to me for other services too~” practically purred that out tbh. his head literally snaps to look at you to confirm that you were indeed flirting, but all he sees is the same dense smile you’ve given him the whole time. “i do bike repairs and parts replacement as well, here’s a brochure :)”

oh he’s definitely coming back.

Rindou

pure chance he walked into your shop that day, he really just needed to purchase a spare part and he could fix it himself. well that idea was immediately thrown out the moment he saw you though. opposite of his brother, definitely way more nervous to speak to you. you were very nice, managed to decipher what he wanted despite his sudden lack of vocabulary.

not one to back down from a challenge, he decides to pretend to be unable to fix his bike himself, and this led to him bringing it in the very next day. definitely spent the night thinking about what to say to you tbh so he doesn’t seem like a gaping idiot the next day.

not that it mattered because he still can’t seem to start a conversation with you, instead opting to stare at your expert hands easily fixing up his bike. bad idea because now his head is getting filled with… other thoughts about your hands and he has to force himself to look away. and he’s not exactly subtle about his staring too, you could feel his eyes on you the entire time. at first you thought it was because he was trying to keep an eye on you, perhaps he didn’t really like the way you did things. oh well, you couldn’t satisfy every customer.

but when he showed up again the next time he needed some repairs, you were surprised. “oh hello, didn’t think i would see you again.” tbh you should have kept your mouth shut. literally just exposed that you remember him despite only seeing him twice. can’t help that he’s so fucking hot memorable. good thing he didn’t pick up on that though, instead focusing on why you didn’t think he would come again.

“well you were practically staring daggers into me the last time, thought you didn’t like my work.” rindou flushed slightly at that, trying to find a way to explain that that wasn’t the reason he was staring at you. “i wasn’t- that was not, why i was staring…” he trailed off at the end, unsure how to continue, his hand rubbing his neck.

“oh so you were just, staring?” you chuckle, eyebrow cocking. finishing up on his bike, you place down your tools before leaning against the cashier counter in front of rindou. “you know, my lunch break is right about now, so why don’t i take you out to lunch and you can get a closer look?”

[frostedfaves]

Naive (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: demon!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: You quickly discover that Wanda is different during the night.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, dark!fic, demon things™️, mental manipulation, smut: oral, fingering, overstimulation, edging, penetration, sex toy use, dom/sub dynamics, biting, slapping(? just a lil)

A/N: no more thoughts except please share your own after reading this! writing this slutty shit kept me sane today so enjoy

Previous part

-

To your surprise and relief that eventually transformed into disappointment, Wanda didn’t make an appearance at all for the rest of the week. You spent each shift for the next few days anticipating her return, watching for her over the heads of shorter customers and through the shelves on your way in and out of the bookstore. You were starting to think that she was simply passing through your town and you were just lucky enough to cross paths with her.

“Hi there.”

“Wanda!” you yelp after looking up from your phone hidden behind the register, clearing your throat as you tuck it in your pocket. “Um, can I get you anything?”

“I’m surprised you remember me,” she laughs. “I’m sure you get hundreds of customers a day.” 

“You left a lasting impression,” you admit before you can stop yourself and she grins.

“So did you.”

There’s a brief pause before she adds your name to the end of her sentence with a flicker of something unrecognizable in her eyes that sends a shiver down your spine. Not knowing what else to do with yourself, you go to ask again what she’d like in the same moment she places a bottle of water on the counter.

“I got a really good recommendation the last time I was here, and I’d like to have it again.”

“Coming right up.” You ring up the exact same order, letting your gaze wander to her hand again as she inserts her card. “I never got to tell you how much I love your rings.”

“What?” She lifts her hand after removing her card and chuckles breathlessly. “Oh yeah, thanks.”

A frown appears on your features when you notice the way she grabs the receipt from you, almost as if she’s actively avoiding brushing fingers with you in the same way she did during her last visit. You’re able to replace the frown with a customer service smile, but you can’t shake the feeling that you experienced rejection before even posing a question. 

“I’ll bring it out to you soon,” you tell her before moving to the glass case, grabbing the food items and frowning again when you find her staring at you from the other side. “Is there something else I can get you?”

“What time do you get off today?” she asks in a rushed fashion.

“What?”

“I mean do you have any plans when your shift is done? I meet people all day long and you’re the first person that I’ve wanted to have a conversation with that lasts longer than a few minutes,” she explains a bit slower. 

“I only have an hour left,” you tell her as you slide her food into the oven. “What did you have in mind?”

“Maybe you could show me what fun things I could get into in this area. I’m a bit further away, Lane County, but I’m starting to enjoy it here more.”

“Well there’s a fair happening on the other side of town, if you don’t mind a long bus ride. I’m guessing you don’t since you live in Lane and you somehow ended up here.”

“Oh, I have a car.” She holds up her car keys with a grin and you laugh.

“Well then…” You pause and look over the counter to see that she’s wearing pants today. “I hope you’re not afraid of rollercoasters.”

-

Aside from the occasional flirting when you have no customers, Wanda waits patiently at the same table as before, standing and joining you the moment you reappear on the other side of the counter without your apron. Her rings are tucked away again, and she dares to brush her knuckles against yours as the two of you leave the bookstore.

“Let me get that for you,” she insists, jogging ahead of you to open the car door and you laugh.

“Is this a date? Should I be nervous right now?” you ask in a joking tone, well aware that you’re genuinely wondering.

“Only if you want it to be.”

You take a deep breath while she crosses to the driver’s side, offering her a casual smile once she’s seated next to you. She denies your request to give her the address, insisting that she’ll be able to follow your directions better instead of admitting that she just wants to hear your voice as much as possible. So you lead her to the expansive fairgrounds on the other side of town, feeling excitement build in your heart the closer you get to your destination.

“This place must hold some memories for you,” Wanda acknowledges your wide grin as she parks.

“No, I just haven’t been in a while,” you admit as you both get out of the car. “Friends are too busy and I try to avoid nighttime bus rides as much as possible.”

“You know, I don’t mind giving you rides at night. I’m well aware that public transportation isn’t the safest form of travel.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that! You live too far.”

“Okay then.” Wanda meets you near the fair entrance and grabs your hand, sliding her fingers between yours. “I won’t give you the chance to ask.”

The two of you are latched onto each other, fingers intertwined the whole night aside from being secured on rides or bathroom trips. You’re walking into the games area, each holding a drink when you suddenly pull Wanda over to a booth. 

“Sorry, I just saw that huge giraffe and wanted to try to win it!” you explain as you release her hand to grab a ticket from your pocket. “Can you hold my drink?”

While your back is turned, Wanda sets both drinks on a nearby table and slips her rings onto her hands, returning just in time for you to finish the game. She hands your drink back to you carefully and reaches out to grab the small stuffed toy you’re offered, brushing her fingers against the attendant’s hand as she did so.

“She wants the giraffe,” she threatens, retreating with a pleased smile when he immediately pulls it down for you. “Thank you!”

“How did you do that?!” you question as she hands it to you. “I mean thank you so much, but wow. I’ve never seen anyone give in so easily.”

“I’ve spent most of my life figuring out how to get what I want, love,” she tells you in a low tone, and a shiver travels down your spine when her hand makes contact with your hip. “What do you think about getting out of here?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you agree quietly, starting to feel as if every other thought that enters your mind is incoherent. “Where do you want to go?”

“I’m taking you home.”

You assume she followed up on her word because you find yourself outside of your apartment building, and her hand closes around your wrist before you can leave the car.

“I had a lot of fun with you tonight.”

“Me too,” you admit, unable to prevent the smile that appears. “I guess this means you’re interested in more than friendship with me.”

“Is it that obvious?” She chuckles quietly as she raises her free hand to your jaw, watching you silently fall against her palm. “I’d bet you’d be a wonderful partner. My best girl.”

“I’d be so good for you,” you reply without hesitation, beginning to feel fuzzy and warm the longer she holds onto you.

“Yeah?” 

Your wrist drops onto the center console as the hand that isn’t resting on your jaw slips under the elastic waistband of your pants and underwear. You gasp when her fingertips begin teasing your entrance, bucking your hips slightly when you feel pressure on your clit.

“Wanda--”

“Shh, it’s okay, darling,” she assures you, slipping her thumb between your parted lips and grinning when they close around her without a fight. “I want to see how good you can be for me.”

She uses her middle finger to stroke slowly over your clit, eyes flickering over to your hips occasionally as they follow her movements. Her thumb slips further into your mouth, and your eyes flutter open when her ring touches your lips and a new sensation follows.

“You’re fine,” she soothes you when you let out a muffled whimper, sighing when she notices a group of people turn the corner at the end of the block and begin heading your way. “Let’s go inside. I don’t need an audience.”

Her fingers are removed from your underwear and in her mouth in seconds, and she practically growls as she cleans the bit of mess you left behind. You hurry out of the car and lead Wanda to your apartment, even in your haze able to remember to get her inside before Ruth sees you. In a few blinks, she’s hovering over you on the bed, and just when you think you can’t handle any more overwhelming sensations, she kisses you.

It’s breathtaking, quite literally you feel air leaving your lungs as if she’s stealing it herself. Your eyes feel like they’re glued shut and the grip she has on your waist is almost painful, but you can’t bring yourself to complain when she’s guiding you to grind on her thigh. Her lips are replaced with two of her fingers as she begins making her way down your body, carefully undressing you with her free hand and biting and kissing the skin she exposes.

“You’re unbearably wet,” she comments from between your legs, dipping her tongue inside you while stroking yours with her fingertips and humming loudly so you’ll arch into her more. “So fucking good.”

Her tongue is replaced with her fingers, and she begins slowly pumping in and out of you while sucking on your clit just to get a reaction. She grabs your hands as they go for her hair and hold them together by the wrists, readjusting so that her thumb can circle your clit when she pulls her head away.

“Being good means not touching unless I tell you to,” she scolds.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize breathlessly through moans as she picks up her pace while adding another finger.

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn. I’ve decided to make you mine.” She continues to finger you as she brings herself back over you, ignoring your gasp when you notice her darkened eyes and pinning your hands above your head. “I can’t wait to make it official.”

Her head dips down and you fall over the edge just as she sucks your earlobe into her mouth, thrusting into you forcefully as she continues you fuck you well past the end of your orgasm while her other hand pushes your pinned wrists into the mattress as hard as she can. You’re just about to cum again when she pulls away entirely, quickly unzipping her pants and freeing a toy she had tucked away.

“That’s really big,” you comment with wide eyes that immediately flutter closed when she pushes the head of the toy inside you. “Fuck.”

“Watch your mouth,” she warns you with a quick slap on your cheek, lowering her hand to hold onto your neck just below your jaw while thrusting into you more. “If it’s so big, why is my pussy swallowing it so easily?”

“Because I want it,” you whine, releasing a loud moan when she slams her hips against yours. “Please please please, I want it.”

“I know you do, love.”

Her other hand pins your wrist against the mattress again as she leans forward and begins fucking into you as hard as she can. She slips her thumb back into your mouth to reduce your screams to muffled whines, grinning to herself when you sink your teeth into her flesh a few times.

“Begging for something you can’t even handle,” she teases, prying your mouth open with her thumb as she lowers her head closer to yours. “Perhaps we should start over.”

She waits until you start to cum and slips her tongue into your waiting mouth, and everything goes dark.

[softomi]

The Specials of the Day

prompt: I’d never want to have you to eat alone, so even if my stomach explodes, I’ll eat with you

pairing: osamu x reader

As he hurled into the toilet, hunched over the bowl, gripping the edges for dear life; Osamu knew exactly how he could have prevented the situation. In fact, this wasn’t the first time he became friends with the toilet after a particularly gruesome lunch.

But how could he resist the way you look at him. The way your eyelashes batted softly, eyes adorned with love, lips perking as you spoke. You were even inviting him to do his favorite thing: eat.

“There’s a great restaurant down the street.”

“A new café just opened up on the other side of campus.”

“I really wanted to try the new menu, are you sure you can’t come?”

And each time you suggested something, he would foolishly agree despite fulfilling his stomach to his extent earlier. It wasn’t foolish, he tried to reason, if he was hopelessly in love with you. Osamu built a bond with you over food, or perhaps it was food that brought you two together. He had met you through working together at a restaurant, Osamu would always catch you eating some food. Your cheeks puffed, a soft grin, your hand attempting to hide your caught state. Osamu, a cook, and you, a waitress, the day a manager caught you with food in your mouth, Osamu rescued you.

“She’s taste testing.” He had said the moment the manager asked you why you were eating. He didn’t know why he was so eager to save you, perhaps it was a coworkers united thing at the moment, but the way he remembers it now; it was definitely the cute fearful look on your face when you glanced at him.

“Hey.” You stopped him on his way out of the restaurant, “Thanks.” You grin, “Seriously, I was so hungry I thought I wouldn’t be able to last the whole shift.”

Osamu nods, “No problem, wouldn’t want the best waitress to get fired over eating.”

“Best waitress?”

He blushes, “Just saying, you don’t get frustrated with us cooks, we all think your nice.”

“Ah.” An innocent smile on your lips, “I should treat you though.”

“It’s okay, no worries.” He tried to continue walking but you ended up following him in the same direction. Awkward with new people, Osamu cursed that employees had to park in the same location.

You turn to look at him periodically, he can practically feel the burn in your eyes, “There’s a really good restaurant near here, I was there with one of my friends the other day and their menu is just spectacular. Everything, cooked to perfection.”

He was hooked. What you had said about the restaurant was vague, but he was hooked on you. Osamu soon realized that your love for food extended to everything, he couldn’t figure out if you had literally the worst tastebuds in the world or was just over optimistic about everything. Every dish was perfect for you, even when he spit out the saltiest fish he’s ever had in his life, you happily noted that it was still good. He forced you to stop eating, fearful of your sodium intake.

When he finally determines he’s done throwing up, Osamu can only sit on the ground, his stomach still feeling bloated.

“Sir?” The door to the bathroom opens, “If you want to head home, I can close the restaurant at the end of the day.”

He couldn’t go home though; a new shipment of rice was coming in and Kita liked to deliver the rice personally. But that didn’t mean he had to look good for his friend, it meant that he could complain about how he wanted to never eat again despite dinner being on his mind.

“You ate twice?” Kita looks at Osamu, the male sitting on the ground, his stomach still queasy.

Osamu groans, “Well, Tsumu wanted to eat at a buffet so we did but then right after we finished eating, y/n called me saying that she really wanted to eat at the same buffet, so of course I agreed and ate again.”

“Why didn’t you just not eat a lot your second time.”

Osamu looks at the older male, “I feel bad making her eat a lot alone, and she can eat. But this isn’t even the first time, last week I had three full course meals in the span of four hours. I literally thought I was giving birth.”

“Okay, just don’t eat with her then.”

“But then, what if she never wants to eat with me again.”

Kita isn’t amused, “I think you’re over thinking.”

Osamu rests a hand onto his stomach, “I feel so nauseous.” His cell rings in his pocket, the way your name pops up onto his screen has him forgetting the nauseousness in his stomach, “Hey!” He’s a little too eager in his answer.

“Hey, I know we just ate lunch together but if you wanted, we could go out to eat for dinner. I know a great place.”

Love struck, he laughs, “Of course, I’d love to have dinner with you. Where should we meet?”

“I’ll stop by.” You say, “then we can head out together.”

Osamu notices the expression on his older friend but the lecture he’s about to receive from Kita is nothing compared to the cute way your cheeks puff with such excitement over food.

He couldn’t wait for the day to be over, as the time neared for the closing of his restaurant, he tried to ready himself for when you walked through the door. As the last of his workers left, he can already spot you skipping in from outside of the windows, casually greeting some of his workers on their way out. He even noticed the way some of his workers snickered with their looks towards him; it was no secret at Onigiri Miya that the owner had the biggest crush on you.

“Hey!” You jump in, pulling yourself into one of the stool seats.

Osamu leans over the counter, just close enough so he can get the nice scent of you. You were always sweet scented; it came as no shock since you worked at a bakery. Every time he saw you, he could tell what you were baking that day, some days cookies, other days, cakes. He wonders if you still liked to sneak food into your mouth during work.

He’d be lying if he said he was listening to what you were saying. Your pretty lips were moving but all he could see was how beautiful you were.

“Samu?”

He straightens up, hoping that the flush of his face isn’t as visible under his hat, “Sorry, long day at work.” He lies.

“Well, I got you something.” You’re rummaging into your bag, pulling out a bottle and placing it in front of him.

“Digestion medicine?” Osamu eyes the bottle.

You were sitting there, arms crossed, a light grin on your face, “I was telling Atsumu about the buffet we went to today and he told me that you two ate there earlier.” Your expression softens, “Knowing how much you ate with me, I can only assume you spent the day in agony, next time, just tell me that you already ate. I can always eat alone.”

He’s silent, but the way you look at him with such concern, he can’t argue. You grabbed your bag, standing from your seat, “Wait.” He stops you any further from moving, “What about dinner?”

You beam excited at him, “I’m going to my favorite restaurant. The owner there is really cute.”

Osamu deflates, “Oh, well, see ya I guess.”

“Okay. See you.”

Osamu watches you make sure you have everything, a silly habit he knows you have; you were always afraid of forgetting something. He feels dejected as you begin to walk away, but the way you round the counter, footsteps pitter pattering towards the cash register makes him confused.

“What are you doing?” He questions.

You lean over the register, giggling as he stares at you, “I’m starving so I came to my favorite restaurant.” The grin on your lips makes his heart stop, “Best. Onigiri. In. The. World.” You tap a finger onto your lips, “but the service is okay, I’ve been here for ten minutes and no one’s taking my order.”

Osamu makes his way to you, palms getting sweaty as he gets nearer and nearer. The owner there is really cute. Your words echo in his head and he’s starting to overthink. Did you really mean what you said, or were you merely teasing him.

“What can I get you?” He speaks in his customer service voice and it makes you press your lips into a smile, “Would you like to hear the specials?”

“Specials?” You perk up.

“Yep, there’s two specials of the day.” Osamu leans forward, “One is called the ‘I Like You Onigiri’ and the other is called the ‘I Don’t Like You, Leave Me Alone Onigiri’.”

You purse your lips, “I think I’m allergic to I Don’t Like You, Leave Me Alone Onigiri.”

It was like you were playing chicken with him, the way you leaned just a bit closer to him. He’s taking in more of your scent and it’s driving him wild, “Would you be interested in one of our new signature drinks?”

“Hm?” You tilt with a question in your expression.

“Can I Kiss You.”

“Oh.” You breathe out a smile, “I’ll take it in a large.”

Osamu places a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into his lips, drinking you in as much as he can. Your hand tips his hat back, fingers running through his hair as the hat falls with a thud. When he lets you go, you pull away, wiping your lips. Flushed cheeks, a laugh coming from you, Osamu pushes his hair back to refix the hat onto his head.

“I’ve never actually made onigiri before.” You were staring at the ingredients on the counter.

“Well, it’s your lucky day then, I’ll give you a free lesson into the Onigiri Miya way.” Osamu fits the apron on you; you don’t notice the way it has his name written across the front. You preferred to look up at the man as he wraps the ties around your waist, pulling you into his chest as he finishes tying the strings around your back.

You think for a second that he’d stand next to you, showing you the way he formed the rice. Instead, he positions you in the center of the ingredients. Pushing his chest to your back, resting a chin on your shoulder, his hands running over yours, using your fingers as his to mold the rice into its intended form.

“Perfect.” He whispers.

Distractedly in awe of the onigiri you just made, you’re wiggling out of his grasp to take pictures of your own set of onigiri. He’s cleaning up, washing the dishes as you munch your food. You offer him a bite which he fully accepts. You miss the way as you turn your back to him, he spits out the overly salty onigiri into the sink.

“Mm.” He masks a grin onto his face, “So good.”

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home — Chapter One: Flightless Bird, American Mouth

a/n: I've been working on this story for mooonths now and I'm so excited to finally share it with the world! It's heavily inspired by Harry's Behind the Album mini doc, except I changed the setting to Hawai'i because I've personally spent some time there and as they say, write what you know! YBMH takes place in the period between One Direction's hiatus and Harry's first album/tour, but with that being said, this is entirely a work of fiction and some events don't follow the true timeline. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little story, I hope you love it as much as I do! It will be updated every Friday at 5 PM PST. My inbox is open, so feel free to talk to me once you've finished reading! I'd love to hear from you :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 5.5k

May, 2016

Harry watches LAX get smaller through the airplane window and visualizes all of his worries stuck at the terminal gate, their magnitude also diminishing as he takes flight. He sinks lower in his seat and skims through playlists on his phone when a nagging feeling at the back of his mind pulls his attention away from the screen. Looking up from the song choices, he spots a cell phone quickly lowered from his line of vision and a girl with flushed cheeks who quickly averts her gaze. Harry shoots a tight-lipped smile in her direction and goes back to his phone with a sigh. The days when he could roam the streets freely without fear of recognition—or worse, harassment—feel like an entirely different lifetime. He sometimes imagines that he’ll wake up back in his childhood bed as if the past five years had all been a dream, but he never does. In fact, his privacy and anonymity seem to dwindle with each minute of radio play that One Direction receives. It’s a bittersweet pill to swallow, but one he hopes will go down easier with some time in the Hawaiian sun.

His close friend and new manager, Jeff Azoff, had suggested the vacation as soon as the band privately agreed to take a hiatus.

“You’ll go home for a few weeks,” his voice had crackled through the speakers of Harry’s phone. “Visit your mom and Gem, lay low for a while until the smoke blows over,”

Harry mulled it over in his mind, eyes flickering over the rolling landscape outside of the tour bus window.

“Then what?”

“Then you go for a little vacation. The label offered to cover a house in Hawaii so you can start working on the album,”

“Alone?”

Jeff chuckled lightly on the other end before responding. “I mean, if that’s what you want,”

“No,” Harry corrected. “You and Tom should come. Mitch and Bhasker, too,”

“The dream team,”

“And there’ll be a studio there?”

“Yes,” Jeff started, almost hesitant. “But I don’t want you to think about that too much,”

“But you said the label—"

“I also said vacation. Look, Rob said ‘it will all happen in due time,' did he not?”

Harry twisted the rose ring around his finger, tracing over the silver petals and thinking back to his conversation with the CEO of Sony Music, Rob Stringer. Upon the proposal of his debut solo album, Rob had told him that the most important ingredient for a successful debut would be patience. The singer had agreed in the moment, but every day not spent in the studio felt like a test he hadn’t studied hard enough for.

“Yeah.”

“So you take the free vacation,” Jeff suggested. “You go out, live, get some writing material. Maybe mess around with some tunes. And then we come back to L.A. and get to work. But until then, I just want you to focus on taking it easy.”

So take it easy he had. Or at least he had tried to when he was back home in England. Harry quickly grew restless after what felt like the millionth awkward conversation with past friends and acquaintances, all of which eventually led to the topic of One Direction and it’s unexpected hiatus. After one month at home, his mind and journal were full of ideas for songs, things that he wanted to say before he lost his nerve. One night as he tossed and turned in bed, he shot Jeff a text, just two words that would kick off a three month getaway to the Big Island of Hawai'i:

I’m ready.

********

“Sounds great, I'll go put in your order.” Alani offers sweetly, trying not to overdo it with the customer service voice. After waiting on the family at her designated table, she heads back to the kitchen and finds her younger sister, Pua, crouched in the corner taking what appears to be a serious phone call.

“I don’t know, I just saw it!” Her sister cries in a hushed tone. “Where do you think he’s going?”

“Is everything okay?” Alani cuts in with concern.

Pua whispers into the speaker before bringing the phone to her shoulder.

“Harry Styles was just spotted on a plane this morning,”

“Who?”

“The guy from One Direction,” her sister explains with a hint of irritation in her voice. “The band who sings that song you secretly like, ‘Fireproof,'”

Alani vaguely recalls the melody, but she waits expectantly for Pua to elaborate. “And this is news because…”

“Because the band just broke up, so where could he possibly be going?”

"The unemployment office?”

Pua rolls her eyes and returns to her phone call while Alani envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m just kidding!” Alani apologizes, squeezing tighter despite her sister’s attempts to break free. “I’m sure he’ll be living off of royalty checks until he’s, like, eighty,”

“Get off me, freak!” Pua cries out, finally breaking the embrace.

Alani clutches her chest and pulls out an invisible knife. “Ouch. I’m telling Harry you said that,”

“This is exactly why I don’t tell you things.” the younger sister huffs, storming out of the kitchen through the employee entrance where Alani’s best friend, Maleah, has just arrived.

“Looks like someone forgot to eat their Cheerios today,” she remarks, tying her curls into a high ponytail.

Alani shrugs and leans against the counter. “She’s going through something. Just discovered that boys in pop bands are, in fact, just regular boys.”

“Poor thing,” Maleah frowns. “We all have to learn eventually.”

********

The sky is a blend of cotton candy pink and burnt orange when Alani returns home from the café with a strawberry smoothie in tow. She empties the mailbox and sorts through the various bills and advertisements, but her stomach drops when she sees a familiar return address label. After a quick greeting to her excited dog who waits at the door, Alani bolts up the stairs and quietly shuts the bedroom door behind her. Breathe, she reminds herself before tearing into the envelope and discarding it onto the wooden floor.

Dear Ms. Hale,

We are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine. However, we regret to inform you—

She doesn’t read the rest, slumping to the floor in defeat. The sixth rejection letter from Rolling Stone lies crumpled at Alani’s feet and she kicks it across the room with a frustrated grunt. She had worked for over two months perfecting her analysis of Joni Mitchell’s Big Yellow Taxi and its allusions to the environmental impact of urban development in Hawaii. As part of her initial research, Alani had even traveled to both the Royal Hawaiian hotel in Honolulu, which is the famous Pink Hotel mentioned in the song, and Foster Botanical Garden that Mitchell referred to as “the tree museum.” She was certain that her effort and persistence would result in at least a consideration. The second third time's the charm! Maleah had joked watching Alani submit the piece. Six articles in the span of two years, each one facing the same rejection despite the increased effort Alani had put in over time. The fact that the rejection letter hadn’t changed over the course of the two years brings an incredulous smile to her face, and her stomach turns when she considers that the editors probably hadn’t even read her work, anyway. All that effort, she thinks to herself, all that time, for nothing.

“It will take time,” her favorite professor, Dr. Hudson, had reassured her three months after the Joni Mitchell article was submitted. “Every great writer faced countless rejection until that one piece. Yours will come. Keep your eyes open and your pen ready.”

Alani sighs and lifts herself off the floor, choosing to crawl into her unmade bed instead of slumping onto the hardwood. She hears a soft scratching at the door before her King Charles Spaniel, Freddie, pads into the room.

“Come here, bubs,” Alani whispers. He obeys and burrows into the duvet, giving her temple a gentle lick before nuzzling into the nape of her neck.

“You still love me, right?” she asks, voice cracking. “Even if I’m a failure?”

Freddie sniffs her ear in response.

********

“Right,” Harry says, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he reads the map. “No, left, sorry,”

“Do you actually know how to read a map?” Jeff teases, correcting the turn.

Harry pouts in response, his brows furrowing. “In my defense, we’re literally in the middle of fucking nowhere,”

“There are worse places to be,” Mitch pipes up from the back seat. “England, for example, where they say things like ‘litchrally’,”

“Very well said, Mitchell,” Jeff Bhasker adds with a fake British accent of his own.

Harry turns to his friends in the back seat with a finger pointed like an agitated mother. “If you lot don’t shut up, I’m gonna lead us to a volcano and push you in,”

“Where are we even going? I forgot,” Tom complains.

“To get food,” his manager responds from the driver’s seat. “I think,”

“Why can’t we just stop there?” Mitch asks pointing to a café pulling up on their right.

Jeff merges into the turning lane quickly without a second thought. “Good enough for me, I’m starving.”

“Sorry, H.” Mitch pats his friend on the shoulder.

Harry scoffs. “You’re the one who wanted poke.”

The Aloha Nui Loa Café is much more spacious than the exterior suggests, yet it still feels cozy. The walls are painted sage green and adorned with various local art pieces, as described by the plaques that accompany them. A skylight fills the center of the room with plenty of warm lighting, leaving the space along the walls in a bit more shade for an intimate feel. In one corner, a hanging disco ball leaves freckles of sparkling light along the walls where the sunlight hits, making the whole image very idyllic in Harry’s mind. As if he couldn’t enjoy the setting more, he hears the beginning of an Otis Redding song that he’s had stuck in his head drift through the restaurant speakers.

“Welcome in!” a voice calls, which pulls him from his survey of the room. His head whips to the source—a girl around his age with wavy, dark hair and honey skin. “For here or to go?”

Harry takes a hesitant step up to the counter. “For here,”

She smiles warmly and pulls some menus from under the counter. “How many in your party?”

“Five.”

“Great, follow me.”

Harry and his friends follow the waitress to the corner of the room under the disco ball and take their seats at the round table.

“My name is Alani,” she introduces herself, setting the menus down. “I’ll be serving you today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Harry continues scanning the restaurant while his group orders. His eyes land on the shirt that Alani is wearing, a white tee with the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey” in blue lettering that surrounds a picture of a cartoon bee.

“Harry,” Jeff says gently, catching his drifting attention.

The singer turns to his manager, who nods to Alani waiting with a pen pressed to her notepad. Harry feels a rush of embarrassment creep across his cheeks and he clears his throat to cover it.

“Just water,” he says, eyes glued to the menu. “Thanks.”

“You got it.” Alani nods, flashing a toothy grin at the rest of the group before turning back to the kitchen. Harry. Her mind repeats, finding a hint of familiarity, though she doesn’t know why.

When Alani arrives at the drink station, she finds her sister staring at her, mouth agape, while Maleah unsuccessfully conceals her laughter.

“What?” she questions, checking herself for any embarrassing stains or smells.

“You were—and he—” Pua stammers. “He was—and then he—”

“That’s Harry Styles,” Maleah translates, her voice hushed as she peers over her friend's shoulder.

Alani turns to steal a glance at the table she just seated, but Pua and Maleah latch onto her and shake their heads frantically.

“Don’t look!” her sister hisses.

Alani smirks, amused at their reactions. “No shit. That’s One Direction?”

Maleah snorts, clasping a hand over her mouth as Pua huffs. “No, dumbass! It’s just Harry. I don’t know who the other guys are,”

“But the blonde guy? That’s not—?”

“No!” Pua and Maleah giggle in unison.

“Okay, geez,” Alani relents. She manages to steal a quick glance at the table over her shoulder, immediately searching for Harry. Her eyes scan over the long, curly hair kept out of his face by a pair of white sunglasses that she had seen on Kurt Cobain once. All of his features are sharp and striking, from his pointed nose and defined jawline to the bright blue eyes. Or maybe they were grey? Alani wonders, trying to remember the exact shade. He doesn’t look anything like the fresh-faced teeny bopper she’d had in mind, the one from a music video her sister had shown her a long time ago. She would have never guessed that the What Makes You Beautiful singer had so much dark ink trailing down his bicep and forearm, though her knowledge of One Direction was very limited.

“What did he order?” Pua questions, her eyes wide.

Alani quickly snaps back to reality and resumes filling the drinks. “A water,”

“Oh my god,” Maleah swoons. “I’m never drinking anything else ever again,”

“I didn’t even know you liked him,” Alani teases with an eyebrow raised.

Maleah sneaks another peek at the table and catches her lower lip between her teeth. “I mean, I didn’t really think so either but look at him. What a fucking dream,”

Harry was objectively handsome, this Alani could admit, but she personally didn’t see the appeal and had a strong feeling that he was just like every other male celebrity. The fact that he hadn’t even bothered to make eye contact with her only served as further proof of what she knew to be true.

“Okay, well, your dreamboat is waiting for his water. So excuse me,” Alani winks, making her way back to the table.

The singer spots Alani returning out of the corner of his eye and the sight of her causes a strange flutter in the pit of his stomach that makes him want to duck for cover. Instead, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and pretends to be occupied with something on the screen.

“Okay,” she greets, setting the drink tray down. “I have a Blue Hawaii, a Mango Mama, two Loco Cocos, and a water,”

The group graciously accepts their drinks with a chorus of “thank you," but the only one under Alani’s scrutiny is Harry. He still doesn’t meet her almond eyes, and though she figured he wouldn’t, she can’t help the inkling of disappointment that washes over her. After taking their meal orders, Alani heads back to the kitchen, checking on her other customers along the way. Harry’s eyes follow her and he observes the way customers light up at her presence, indulging her conversation with laughter. He watches as she lingers by the jukebox in one corner of the room, a detail he had missed in his initial scan, and waits anxiously to see what song she chooses. Baby I’m-a Want You begins softly and Harry feels the corner of his lip curl ever so slightly. Good choice, he thinks.

********

“He’s still here,” Pua muses, peering through the tiny window in the kitchen door. It had been nearly two hours and the five men were still seated around their table cracking jokes and doing a lot of talking with their hands.

Alani doesn’t look up from her bowl of sliced kiwis, offering a hum in response. “And what do you want me to do about that?”

“Nothing,” Pua shoots back. “Don’t bother him,”

“What kind of girls do you think he’s into?” Maleah asks, attempting to peek through the window.

Alani shrugs, bored of the conversation and of thinking about Harry. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet he’s a real sucker for the ones who stalk him while he’s eating,”

“How does he make eating a salad look hot?”

“Can we talk about something else now?” Alani whines, poking holes in a lone kiwi with her fork.

Pua tosses a wet dish rag in her sister’s direction and cheers when it lands in her face. “Go see if he wants more water, he looks thirsty.”

“I already refilled it,” Alani defends. “Twenty minutes ago. I’ve refilled it a hundred times, I’m surprised he hasn’t peed his pants.”

I’m gonna piss myself. Harry thinks, his right leg bouncing to distract himself. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. He really wasn’t all that thirsty, but he couldn’t stop himself from finishing each glass of water that Alani placed in front of him. Like clockwork, she would return to fill his glass almost as soon as the last drop had been drained, and so what began as a little experiment slowly turned into a bladder hazard. But if the trend was to be trusted, she would be back any minute and he wasn’t going to miss it; afterall, there were only so many ways to casually linger in a small café without making it weird. Unable to bear it any longer, he heads to the restroom and hopes that Alani doesn’t clear their table before he has a chance to see her again.

Harry pads down the back hallway with his eyes cast down at the floor, which proves to be a mistake when he walks directly into another person.

“Sorry!” they both apologize quickly, Harry’s palm taking purchase on the other person’s upper arm.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he offers, finally meeting the dark, mocha eyes already looking back at him.

Alani presses her lips into a tight smile. “Me either,”

Harry’s heartbeat picks up when he realizes it’s her, and he isn’t aware of how close they’re standing until he detects the faint scent of kiwi on her breath. He takes a step back and rakes a hand through his hair.

“So I guess I’ll just—”

“Yeah, sure.”

Green. Alani notes to herself. His eyes are green.

********

Shortly after Harry returned from the restroom, him and his friends settled their bill and headed out. Alani cleared their table and her eyes nearly fell out of her head when she saw the hefty tip left behind. The word mahalo was also left behind on the receipt, underlined twice, and she wondered if it was his handwriting.

Later that night, she settled into bed with her laptop and hesitantly typed his name into Google. As she expected, countless articles about the split of One Direction emerged, most of them speculating what was next for each member. To her surprise, however, Harry’s name seemed to be mentioned more than his fellow bandmates as various sources labeled him “the next Justin Timberlake” and rising star of the group. Upon further investigation, she learned that the demand for information about the elusive Harry Styles was high, especially concerning any possible solo music. No news had yet been confirmed by Styles himself, nor anyone claiming to represent him, but she still wondered if his presence in Hawaii had anything to do with a possible solo project. Almost as soon as she thought it, Alani dismissed the theory in favor of the idea that he was most likely just taking a vacation. And from the buzz that she saw surrounding the news about One Direction, she couldn’t blame him.

The more Alani read, the more she wanted to know, and something deep down told her that his was a story worth telling. Of course, the only problem was that she had hardly talked to him, and there were only so many things she could say about the fifteen glasses of water he downed. There was no way of knowing if she would ever see him again, either, or if he was merely stopping in Hilo on his way to another island or somewhere else entirely. Alani sighed, thinking back to her most recent rejection from Rolling Stone. She knew that there was no possible way she would ever see or talk to Harry ever again, and even if she did, why would he bare his entire soul to a stranger? Still, she let her mind wander through the possibility.

Dear Ms. Hale, the letter would read, we are very grateful to have received your submission to Rolling Stone magazine and are pleased to inform you that your piece on Harry Styles will be featured in next month’s issue. Additionally, we would be honored to have you on staff, effective immediately.

It was far-fetched, Alani knew this, but she dozed off that night with endless ideas swimming in her head.

********

By the third day after his visit, the only trace of Harry is in Alani’s search history. She would have completely forgotten about him if it weren’t for her sister’s constant reminiscing and multiple attempts to rename the house salad to the “Harry Special.” As a result, a part of Alani’s thoughts periodically linger back to that day and the subsequent hours spent on Google that she’d rationalized as research instead of stalking. Somehow the knowledge that she’ll never see him again only adds fuel to the questions still burning in her mind, but a customer clearing their throat while she sorts menus below the hostess podium interrupts her thoughts.

“Welcome in!” She calls, standing. “What can I—”

She stops in her tracks, unable to believe her eyes. Harry blinks and waits for her to continue.

“What can I get started for you?” Alani tries again, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her shock. Luckily for her, Harry had been too focused on choosing his next words to register her mistake.

“What’s in the Honu smoothie?” he asks, mentally kicking himself for asking such a stupid question when the menu just inches above her head clearly spells it out.

Alani hums, thinking back to the times she had made the smoothie herself. “Kiwis, spinach, mango, avocado, and a hint of lime,”

“I’ll take one of those,” Harry says, reaching for his wallet.

Alani punches in the order with trembling fingers and nods. “For here or to go?”

“To go,”

Disappointment fills her chest. Sure, she hadn’t planned on seeing him ever again, but the fact that she did felt like a sign. If she wanted to take the chance, she’d have to do it fast.

“Anything else?” she asks, weighing her options while he skims the menu.

“No thanks.”

Alani makes the smoothie quickly, head spinning. She had spent most of the night after their initial meeting planning out exactly the type of questions she hoped to ask him and what kind of article she would write. She was used to writing about what she knew—artists and music she’d admired for years— but she figured that starting fresh with someone she hardly knew would be a good challenge. Not to mention that it seemed like just the thing Rolling Stone would jump for. Alani finally works up the courage as she finishes his smoothie, but when she returns to hand it to him and hopefully strike up a conversation, his ear is pressed to his cell phone. She holds out the drink and he graciously accepts, giving her a small nod as a “thank you” and rushing out of the restaurant.

Two days later he returns and is seated at the counter, typing away on his phone. Alani feels both a rush of optimism and annoyance at the universe for dangling his presence so unexpectedly. She starts heading over to him, but Maleah cuts in.

“Trade me?” she proposes, eyes wide.

Alani blinks. “Oh, I would but I—”

“Please,” her best friend pouts. “I’m leaving to see my grandparents in stupid California for two months. Who knows when I’ll get the chance to see him again?”

Alani sighs, but gives in, reluctantly exchanging Harry for the family of four seated by the window. A strange feeling settles into the pit of his stomach when he sees that she heads in the opposite direction after a hushed conversation with another waitress. He doesn’t know why she traded him for a different customer, but he takes the hint.

A week goes by without another sighting of Harry and Alani has permanently taken on the role of greeting hostess in hopes of seeing him again. Her heartbeat temporarily speeds up when she sees a long haired customer approach the door, but her spirits quickly fall when the face doesn’t match his.

Another week brings another disappointing realization that Harry might be gone for good. One rainy morning when the restaurant is quiet and only two customers huddle together in a booth near the back, Alani hunches over the hostess podium and doodles on a stray receipt— a sunflower, a crescent moon, and two hearts. The bell above the door jingles but she doesn’t look up, too absorbed in her scribbles.

“Do you serve coffee?”

The familiar accented voice stops Alani’s pen dead in its tracks. She lifts her eyes first to confirm, and then straightens up when she sees that her ears haven’t deceived her.

“Yes,” she swallows.

“Great. I’ll take it to go,”

She slightly deflates, but Harry thinks he’s reading too much into it.

“Actually,” he corrects anyway, just in case he isn’t. “I think I’ll stay for a while,”

Alani flashes a warm smile and nods in the direction of the counter. “Right this way,”

Harry sheds his windbreaker onto the back of the seat, revealing a black and white Rolling Stones t-shirt that makes Alani’s blood pressure rise. A sign, she thinks.

“What do you want in your coffee?” she questions carefully.

“Nothing,” he responds, shaking out his damp hair gently. “Or actually, uh, butter...if you have some,”

Alani blinks, not sure if she’d heard correctly or if there had been some transatlantic miscommunication.

“Butter?”

“Yeah,”

“Like the—”

“Spread, yeah,” Harry confirms. “It’s weird, I know,”

She lets out a light-hearted laugh and nods. “It’s a...unique request,”

“I thought the same thing at first,” Harry confides. “It’s not bad, actually. But maybe I’ve just been in L.A. for too long.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

She offers a polite smile and heads to the kitchen where the cook and two other waiters talk amongst each other. Alani is grateful that the restaurant is slow this morning because she knows that it means minimal interruptions to her time with Harry. To ensure this, though, she asks one of the other waiters to cover the podium and returns to Harry with his coffee.

“One butter coffee, free of judgement,” the waitress announces, setting it down.

Harry grins softly, stirring the drink with the spoon Alani provided. “You can judge, it’s alright,”

“I just wanna know why,”

The coffee had been part of a fad diet while on tour in order to boost Harry’s energy on stage and stay trim for the hundreds of photo-ops he would be a part of. He doesn’t know how to communicate all of this to Alani, however, not sure how much she knows about that part of him, so he shrugs and tells a simplified version of the truth.

“I read about this trend a while back, it's called bulletproof coffee. Supposed to get your energy up and I needed it for my job,”

“Which is…” Alani trails off, downplaying the knowledge that she had acquired from Google.

“I make music,” is all Harry says and he takes a sip of the drink to avoid elaborating.

“Anything I would have heard?”

He swallows hard and listens to the faint rumbling of thunder outside before replying. “Possibly,”

“Try me,” Alani challenges.

He narrows his eyes and takes another sip of coffee. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself first?”

“What do you wanna know?”

Everything, Harry responds internally, though he reigns it in. “How you got into waitressing,”

Alani sighs, resting her elbows on the counter across from him. “There’s not much to tell, it’s a family business. What I really wanna do is write,”

“Music?”

“Articles. I’m studying Journalism at UH,”

Harry hums in response, filing the detail away in the back of his mind. “Sounds interesting. You ever publish anything?”

“Not yet,” Alani shakes her head gently, toying with the sleeves of her green University of Hawaii crewneck. “Hopefully soon, though,”

Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but before he can, Alani speaks up again.

“Is it my turn to ask something now?”

He offers a curt nod and stirs his coffee.

“What kind of music do you write?”

Harry chooses to be vague again. “Different stuff. Pop, usually. Been messing with some classic rock, though,”

“Explains the shirt,”

He peers down at the design on his tee and agrees. “Yeah, I guess so,”

“Do you like it?” Alani asks, her eyes begging to make contact with his again. “Writing music, I mean,”

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, tapping his spoon against the rim of the mug. “I really do,”

Alani’s heart pounds. This is her chance, a moment to finally secure her breakthrough piece. She doesn’t know how to approach it, so she opts to dive right in without looking back. The worst he can say is no.

“Can I ask you something else?”

“That’s cheating,” Harry teases lightly. “It's my turn,”

She pouts playfully, but obliges. “Fire away,”

Harry doesn’t know which question to ask first, but when he glances down at the crescent moon inked on her wrist, he decides to start there.

“What’s with the moon tattoo?”

Alani isn’t sure what she expected him to ask and wonders what purpose such a detail could possibly serve him, but she answers anyway.

“Oh, well,” she begins, tracing her index finger over the outline. “It’s kinda the meaning of my full name. It’s Mahealani, Hawaiian for ‘heavenly moon,'”

Fitting, Harry comments to himself. Every detail he learns about her makes him want to learn that much more, from her favorite foods to the last thing she thinks about before falling asleep. Studying her expectant eyes, he suddenly remembers that it’s his turn to respond.

“That’s cool,” is all he says.

Alani doesn’t know what to make of the faraway look in his eye, but she decides to pose her most burning question while he appears to be in good spirits.

“I know this is gonna sound totally out of the blue,” she starts, working past the lump in her throat. “But when you mentioned how you write music, I was just reminded of this assignment I’m working on in my class,”

Harry waits for her to continue, nursing his now lukewarm coffee.

“I’m supposed to write a piece about someone who I don’t know that well,” she continues. “You know, to practice our interviewing skills. And, well, I was just kind of wondering if you might be interested in helping me out—being the subject, I mean,”

Alani had every intention of telling Harry the truth, about how she really planned to submit the article to Rolling Stone in hopes of securing an internship before her college graduation next Spring. But as she started speaking, she quickly realized how it would come off: a complete stranger asking for personal information to submit to a well-known publication. She knew that there was a chance he would shut down and never return, so she lowered the stakes and hoped that this route would be less risky. Was it ethical? Alani hadn’t decided yet, but she would work out the details later. After six failed articles and two years of rejection, she saw a ray of hope and wasn’t going to let it slip away.

Harry ponders her offer for a moment, which confirms that she had recognized him. Normally he would be off-put by such a request, and to a certain extent he is, but there is something sincere in her voice that he trusts deep down. Before he agrees, however, he decides to fish around a bit to test her reaction.

“You know who I am,” he says gently. “Don’t you?”

Alani’s heart drops into the pit of her stomach, not sure what to say next. She hopes with every fiber of her being that she hasn’t upset him, or worse, ruined her chances, so she decides to offer some truth to throw him off her scent.

“My sister recognized you,” she explains. “That day you came in with your friends. I thought they were your bandmates at first,”

This lets Harry know that she isn’t a total stalker, which is comforting, but he wouldn’t have been minded if she were a fan simply engaging in conversation.

“Oh,” he laughs weakly.

“I totally understand if you say no,” Alani offers quickly, trying to smooth things over. “I just thought it was worth a shot. And that it might be more interesting than interviewing our produce guy,”

Harry decides to give her one last scan for any sign of insincerity. He’d always felt that his gut instinct was strong and it hadn’t led him astray thus far.

“An interview?” he clarifies.

“Just one,” Alani promises. “An hour, tops. And you can proofread all of it once I’ve finished, too.”

Harry waits a beat, already knowing his reply, but he wants to see how she will react to his silence. She doesn’t budge, almond eyes set and determined.

“Okay.”

next chapter

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[toomanyfandoms02]

The Mission // Spencer Reid x Reader

Sooooo this was SUPPOSE to be a blurb for @andiebeaword BUT it ended up being much longer than that, my bad.

Summary - Spencer and Reader must act like a married couple at a party in order to get information on a hitman. They may do more than needed to prove being a married couple.

Word count - 2.7k

Prompts - "If we die, I'm going to kill you." ~~~ "You have a dirty mind." ~~~ "These heels are peeling off my **skin**. But yes, keep complaining about your tag you whine ass." ~~~ "Wow, I can't imagine being that rich! How old are his kids, maybe I can date one."

It was a well-known fact that I loved partnering with Spencer. We could always joke around and make eachother feel better, even when working the bad cases. But I feel like this was a little ridiculous.

"Are you shitting me?" The words slipped from my mouth so easily, which I immediatly regretted. Spencer gave me *the look* and elbowed my side.

"I'm sorry Y/n, you and Spencer are the two people who are the most compatible to seem like a couple, and we need hard proof before we arrest him." Hotch explained with his usual amount of enthusiasm.

None.

"Hotch, this guy is dangerous and we will be in there without vests, is what I believe y/n is trying to say." Spencer leaned back in his seat, flipping through the mans file.

"We will have sharp-shooters pointing through every window at him in case anything gets out of hand. This is non negotiable." And with that, he left.

"Well, clearly we have no choice." I stood from my seat, flattening my skirt. "I'm gonna go home and get an outfit ready. You aren't wearing that to the party either." I pointed to his outfit.

"What's wrong with my outfit?!" He scoffed, hugging his sweater vest.

"Okay, one, this isn't some dingy hole in the wall. And two, even if it was, you don't go to a nice party looking like someone who has 3 PhD's in the first place." The smirk on my lips grew wider as he feigned offense.

"Fine, I'll find something nicer to wear. I'll pick you up at 7 and tell the team to meet us there." I agreed and left the conference room a little grumpy, quickly making a bee line to the elevator before anyone could comment on my mood.

-

I stared at the 3 dresses in front of me. They were all the same style, but different colors.

White, yellow, and olive green.

I wasn't sure why I was having so much trouble picking a *color*. I always say that I dress for myself, which is what I was trying to do right now.

Right?

I totally wasn't thinking back to that conversation I had with Spencer a few weeks ago.

-

*"Y/n!" Emily looked at me with surprise. "You look so beautiful in white! Why don't you wear it more?" She was right, I never wore it. Me and Penelope were pretty known for wearing many colors, mine just had to be paired with a black skirt.*

*"I'm so clumsy." I laughed. "I live in constant fear that I'll spill coffee on it. Hence why I'm not holding a cup of joe."*

*"I agree with Emily, you look nice in white." Spencer chimed in. "You know the psychological meaning of white is purity, innocence, wholeness and completion. In color psychology, white is the color of new beginnings, of wiping the slate clean, so to speak." He then took a sip of his coffee.*

*"Yeah well I don't know about the innocent part." I giggled, looking to Emily who gave me a shrug and nod. Spencer choked a bit on his coffee. "You alright there Spence?" He saluted me and headed to his desk, which put me and Emily into a fit of giggles.*

-

I reluctantly grabbed the white one, silently hoping that I was less of a klutz tonight.

The satin dress slipped on me easily. It came down to about 2 or so inches above my knees and had thin straps. I paired it with some semi-transparent heels and called it a day. I put on a little heavier makeup to look the part. Foundation, winged eyeliner, blush, highlight, and mascara. Lastly, I tied my hair up in a simple straightened pony-tail.

By the time my indecisive ass was done choosing everything, it was nearly 7 and I knew that Spence would be early. My heels clicked as I walked on my wood floors, heading to the front door. Getting there just in time to hear a knock. I must have startled him by opening it so fast because he stumbled back a bit. He wore a nice white button up and tighter pants than usual, paired with nice black oxfords.

And then he just stood there.

I waved my hand in front of his face.

"Hi!" He shook his head a bit. "Hello there, back to Earth I see. Do you wanna come in and have a glass of water before this whole event, since you are," I leaned back into my doorway to look at the time. "12 minutes early?"

"Oh, yeah sure." I cleared the way so he could walk in. I shook the heels from my feet, taking me down at least three inches before stepping into the kitchen. I grabbed two glasses.

"Do you want ice?" I turned to him, he was sitting at my island. He just shook his head. "Okay." I laughed, putting ice in mine and just filling his with water. The glass clinked as it hit the island in front of him. "You're pretty quiet, are you okay?" The tips of his ears reddened.

"Yeah! I'm just a little nervous, you?" He swiftly brought the water to his lips, guzzling it down like he hadn't drank anything in days. He then stood up.

"Of course I'm nervous." I came around to his side of the counter and swooned into his arms. "But I'll have a great protector there." He smiled down at me with a shake of his head, standing me back up.

Now it's time to head out.

-

We pulled up to the location in Spencer's Volvo, which was incredibly nice to ride in. ~~and I would love to get use to riding in it~~.

"Okay, I have one thing to fix with your outfit." I turned to him before we exited the car. His eyes narrowed at this comment. I leaned forward and unbuttoned two buttons. "Now you look like your going to a party."

"Thank you expert. Stay in the car, I'm going to open your door, the bouncer works with him and we have to go all out on this act." He nodded his head at the bouncer a few yards away.

I wish this wasn't an act.

He opened the door, offering his hand. I took it with a gracious smile, interlacing our fingers. We walked up to the bouncer, who had an ipad with the guest list in hand. Penelope had hacked into their list and added our names, well fake names.

"Mr and Mrs. Adler." Spencer spoke as I leaned into his side. The man scrolled through the list, he tapped our names and opened the door.

It opened to a large room, filled with dozens of people. I leaned up on my tippy toes and whispered into Spencer's ear.

"If we die, I'm going to kill you." I pulled away with a smile, patting his shoulder. His Adam's apple bobbed while he gulped. "So, what's this guys networth, I mean he seems pretty damn rich to throw a party like this." He looked down at me quizzically. "I know you know what it is, I'm sure you have researched him extensively. So what is it?"

"6.2 million dollars." He recited, looking towards the crowd, scanning for the man in question.

"Wow, I can't imagine being that rich! How old are his kids, maybe I can date one."

"Be careful what you say, someone might think we are suspicious." He pulled me into his side, kissing the top of my head.

This night is going to be agonizing. "There he is." We made our way to him slowly, stopping at small drink stations. Just as we were about to get to some seats near him, a server came up to us.

"Hello! Welcome. Would you guys like anything?" She handed Spencer a very small menu. I could see the slight confusion in his eyes. It was truly a weird thing to do at such a big party.

*Salad*

*Potato Soup*

*Fruit Bowl*

*Veggie Bowl*

"I'll have a salad, and the lady will have a fruit bowl." He pointed to the seats we were on our way to. "We will be over there. Thank you." He put his hand on the small of my back, leading us to the seats.

"How did you know I wanted a fruit bowl?"

"You bring some kind of fruit cup to work every day, I'm observant." Right as we were about to sit down, another couple took the seats, not even noticing that we were heading there.

"Well damn. I say we stand next to his table until our food gets here, then we go to the other corner of the room and observe, then we catch him making the deal." I led him to the space by the table. After just a few minutes of waiting, the young lady who took our orders he returned, holding a small bowl of salad and a fruit bowl.

"Have a good night!" She chimed, how can someone be so happy with so many people around?

We ventured to the other side of the room, I grabbed two glasses of champagne from another server on the way. I peered at Spencer over the skinny glass, he was staring at his salad.

"What, is there something wrong?"

"Why is there so much white stuff on it? It's not ranch, I know what ranch looks like." My giggle was muffled slightly by the glass.

"That's what she said." He raised one eyebrow. Then a look of realization came over his face.

"You have a dirty mind." He mixed together the salad to distribute the 'white stuff'. We subtly stared every once in a while over at the mans table.

His name was Anton Todd, but his customers called him Ton. He was someone who frequently assassinated people. He was a hitman to be exact. We had an outside source tell us that a new customer would be coming in to request business, so we could kill two birds with one stone.

So far the man we knew as Cole Kamargo had not come to ask for Antons *services* yet. We had been standing in this corner of the room for a while, just watching him. That's when I caught his eye.

His gaze was terrifying, it struck me right through my soul, and I just couldn't stop looking. He squinted at me, tilting his head. Spencer shook my shoulder.

"Y/n, stop staring at him." It was like being lost in someone's eyes in the worst way possible. I watched as he stood from the table, making his way over with a sour look on his face.

"Shit shit shit shit." I mumbled as he got closer.

"Shit is right. Do you trust me?" I kept my eyes on the man.

"Of course." He grabbed my hips, pushing me against the wall behind us and kissed me hard. He trailed his left hand up to the back of my neck, holding me there. I gasped in surprise, leading him to slip his tongue in my mouth. Meaning we were full on making out. I pushed my hands into his hair, gladly accepting the kiss and sighing into it. Suddenly, Spencer was pulled from me. And there he stood.

Anton.

"Tell your girl to stop fuckin' staring at me." He spat, glaring at me.

"Sorry sir, my wife has ADHD, she zones out frequently." He rushed to my side and pulled me into his side protectively. Anton rolled his eyes and left the area.

I looked up at Spencer, his cheeks were a deep shade of red, and he was touching his lips.

"Thank you. Also, you're a good kisser." I remarked, nudging his side a bit. He looked down at me with wide eyes. "What? Am I not allowed to compliment your kissing? It's good!" I laughed heartily, looping my arm into his.

"Ditto." A smile grew on his lips. I could get use to this. Spencer noticed an available seat near us, so he sat patting his lap.

"Excuse me?"

"Come sit on my lap!" He chuckled.

"I'm glad your getting use to the idea of me being your *wife*." I sat on his lap, leaning my head back onto his shoulder. My hands made their way to the heel of my foot, slightly slipping my shoe off. "These heels are from Satan I think." I rubbed at the sore skin.

"My tag is itchy." Spencer pulled at his collar, relieving the so called *itch*.

"These heels are peeling off my **skin**. But yes, keep complaining about your tag you whine ass." He turned his head to me, kissing my cheek.

"I'm sorry, I can put some neosporin on it when we get home. I mean, when we get-get you home." He stuttered, the tips of his ears once again turning an extravagant shade of red. I kissed his jaw.

"Thank you *baby*." We were then interrupted by a woman next to us.

"How long have you guys been married?" The lady leaned over the booth, a ring was clearly shown on her finger.

"8 years." I answered quickly, before Spencer could say a contradicting answer.

"Wow! You guys look so young to be together so long. How do you guys keep it so... so beautiful?" She tilted her head at the question.

"What do you mean?" I asked, reaching my hand into Spencer's hair and playing with it momentarily.

"You seem so in love. You act like teenagers, I don't think I've looked that in love with my husband since we first met." She huffed.

"You just have to find someone who's easy to love." He leaned his head on mine. "I've never had a doubt in my mind that she was the one." The words stuck with me, I felt like they would be embedded in my soul for eternity.

"I think I need to get a divorce." She sunk into the seat, I watched as her husband come back and sat with her, she gave him a weak smile.

"Okay, we need to leave this area before we become homewreckers." I whispered, pulling him to his feet and fleeing into another direction. "We must be amazing actors." I laughed nervously.

"Yeah, actors." He murmered, but before I could comment on it, I saw Cole making his way to Anton.

"Spencer! It's Cole!" I screeched quietly. We discreetly made our way near the table, quickly catching the conversation and relaying it to Hotch.

Cole spoke of the horrible things he wanted done to his wife, it made me sick.

"FBI, get on the ground!" I pulled my gun from the left holster that Spencer had for me. I couldn't exactly *hide* a gun on this white dress. Spencer pulled his gun as well.

"We have you surrounded by sharpshooters aimed and ready to fire, so I suggest that you comply." Morgan came in soon, cuffing the both of them and leading the men to cars.

We now remained outside, sitting on the stairs of the large building.

"I enjoyed being your husband for a night." Spencer laughed, nudging my shoulder.

"And I enjoyed being your wife." I played with the fake ring on my finger. "Okay. Fuck it. Did you mean any of the things you said in there?" The words spat from my mouth quickly.

"Like what?" His voice was shaky.

"Like, that you never had a doubt that I was the one. Or was that part of the act. I would totally understand if it was, you're an amazing actor if it was because it honestly had me believing-" He put his finger to my lips.

"Yes, I meant it."

"Thank God." I grabbed his jaw with both hands and brought him to my lips. He smiled into the kiss, deepening it. His hands ran up and down my back slowly.

"I wouldn't mind doing this every day." He remarked, gesturing between our lips.

"I wouldn't either pretty boy."

[the-writing-mobster]

@fransweek The prompt was flirt! Here's an excerpt from my Mafiafell story still in the works.

”The House Painter “excerpt:

Hungover. That was how she felt. She hadn't completely scrubbed away the mascara now staining her face. 

She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She needed a coffee… and there was no way she was going to make it herself. Walking to the little diner at the end of the block would be a nice breath of fresh air. She lived far away from the burlesque theater. No one would recognize her. Hopefully no men would grab her. 

Pulling on a loose, coral, drop waist dress and hiding her dark, unkempt bob with a cap to match, she was out the door. 

She hoped no one would bother her. Not with her stained face and red, puffy cheeks. She couldn't even remember crying herself to sleep, but she was increasingly aware that she must've done just that. It's a fact, Frisky. You're pathetic. 

Frisk left her small, modest apartment. A group of little girls were playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. She smiled, a skip to her step. She remembered hopscotch. The innocent memory lifted her spirits a little. 

The diner bell rang and she hummed along. She felt real in that little diner. No stage makeup. No glittery plastic diamonds covering her exposed body. No rowdy men. No. Here, there was just Annie, Bob, and the old men who liked to tell war stories and proverbs. She liked it at the diner. 

She froze. 

There was a new presence. There was a new person in the diner. No. That wasn't a person. Not in the way she knew it. 

She blinked. Tall, at least six feet and eleven inches. Wide… not fat, but he had a girth to him unseen in human men. Muscular… a black button up rolled up to this man's forearms. Revealing bone. His head was a skull. There was a shadow of something dangerous hanging onto him. 

Frisk shot fervent glances around the diner as she edged herself inside. She couldn't believe it. A monster. An actual monster. 

Now, she had lived in Ebbot for a long time. She may have been an immigrant, but Ebbot had become her city. Her dirty little city filled with all her broken dreams. However, in her long time in Ebbot City, a city known for monsters… she had only ever seen one or two, from far away. Never… never up close and personal.

She was shaking. Was she shaking? Oh God she was shaking. She began to second guess her visit to the diner. Maybe she would go back to her apartment and make herself coffee. Her eyes darted back to the door, then back to the monster. You've come this far… how rude would it be if you just walked in, saw a monster, and walked out? You're better than that.  

Frisk swallowed her resolve and sat far away, in the corner of the bar. She spared a curious look at him from under her thick lashes. She quickly looked away when his red eyelights slid over to meet her gaze. Oh God I hope he didn't see me starin'... 

How long had he been there? 

“Hey! I don't remember lettin' monsters in my diner,” barked the owner, Bob. Frisk startled at the gruff greeting… hardly a greeting. The monster glared across at him. 

“Oh. How silly of me. I didn't see a sign… Thought there were finally some sensible folk… guess I was wrong,” he growled. Frisk glanced at him, then at the window. No sign. No sign barring black people, or monsters. It was a clean window. It was why Frisk liked this diner. 

She glanced back at Bob and she frowned. The man might have been a scary sight but… she began to think of her own experiences. How would she feel if she was treated with disdain because of her work? If people found out… Her soul burst with empathy, a red glow showing through her dress and she shot up. 

“Wait! No, no… no, Bob no. He's right. There wasn't a sign,” she argued. The skeleton shot her a look, his eyes widening a bit. Bob also sent a warning look at her, but it only made her soul glow a bit brighter. 

“We have the right to refuse service to—”

“—I want him here, hm? What about that? I'll never eat here again if you do this, and you know how well I tip,” she threatened. The monster seemed to shrink the more they argued, sending fervent looks at her. Confused looks. Shocked looks… grateful looks. 

The monster watched her. Watched her as she leaned against the counter and spoke sweetly, firmly, eyelashes batting, hips swaying like some kind of siren. He didn't even know if it was intentional… He definitely wasn't complaining. He glanced up at the owner and grinned when he saw the flustered look on his face. 

“Fine Frisk… only for you… Dammit… You better not scare away any of my customers!” spat Bob as he went back to the kitchen. The skeleton narrowed his eye sockets as he watched him leave. Ass. 

Frisk gave a small sigh and sat back down, going back to reading the menu, covering her face and trying not to dart cautious looks at the monster. He was still terrifying… and he was a man… what if he took her act of kindness as a ticket to harass her? That had happened to her plenty of times. 

A silence enveloped the diner. She couldn't help but glance at him and every time she did, she could see him innocently lift his head and eyes. He didn't talk to her. A part of her was silently grateful. 

She had her coffee. He had a slice of pie. She tried not to watch him eat it with fascination. This was by far the most interesting thing to ever happen to her… and that was saying something. 

She wrestled herself away from the counter to use the ladies room, a part of her a little worried he would be gone by the time she came back. She stopped herself. Stupid. Yet, she couldn't stop herself from shooting another hidden look at him before she left. A blush spread across her face when he winked. Fuck!

After washing her hands, she composed herself enough not to race out to make sure he hadn't slipped away. Sure enough, he was still there, tapping his skeletal fingers on the countertop. 

She glanced down as she took her seat to see a folded napkin. That wasn't there before. Frisk tried to be as discreet as possible as she unfolded the napkin. She could almost feel the skeleton's gaze shifting on and off of her. Almost feel that skull grin widen. 

“Pie thank you for doing that. I hope this isn't too corny, but I crust anyone with your kind of integrity to like bad jokes. Anyway, name's Sans, Sans the skeleton.” 

Frisk snorted with laughter and immediately hid her mouth with the palm of her hand. She didn't dare look at him. That's really sweet… 

She tried to hide her smile as she grabbed a pen and slowly began to think up a good response. 

Sans the Skeleton watched her with gentle curiosity as she wrote back to him. This was just too cute. He didn't deserve this at all. Why was she being so nice? Why did he write a note on a napkin for fuck's sake? He felt like an idiot… but that little hidden laugh? He didn't know her name but he was starting to believe in love at first sight. 

She glanced up with a blush and tried to act as aloof as possible as she scooted over one seat closer to him and slid the napkin to him. She quickly recoiled back to her seat as if he'd bite and he didn't blame her one bit. 

His mouth was full of sharp fangs, he was big, monstrous and smelled like smoke. Not cigar smoke either. Fire. He'd sit far away from him too. 

Slowly, he opened the napkin and tried to fight the grin growing on his face. 

“It's slice to meet you, Sans.”  

Sans snickered at her little joke. That was good… it was rare to find such a kindred spirit in the marketplace of humor. He spared another hidden look at her. He was starting to grow fond of the Sunlight district… 

The napkin was running out of room on the side he'd been using. He flipped it over and clicked his pen, tried not to notice the excited shift of her cute, little body as he did so. He also tried to ignore the ugly looks being sent their way, but that was something he was a bit more hyper aware of. It took everything in him not to snarl at them to fuck off into oblivion. 

Frisk was inwardly squealing with delight as he flicked the napkin to her. It took everything in her to keep composed as she coyly sent him a look and then delicately unfolded the napkin. Her eyes wandered the diner as she tried her best not to appear too interested, but she was dying to read what he read. 

“Stop or I might start pie-ning.” 

She blushed, a small giggle escaping her lips. She had never interacted with a man like this. At least not since primary school, and even that wasn't nearly as sweet as this… to think it was a monster who would approach her like this. She bit her lip to hide her smile and glanced back at him. And she had been scared… 

He was battling with himself not to look at her. She was so cute. Her puns, her smile, those eyes that stole coy little looks at him. Her dress was cute, and her hair, messy. There was something wrong about her though. Streaks of mascara… puffy red eyes. Those had started to fade but the smudged makeup remained. Was she ok? 

“Okey dokey, Ms. De Là Noir, ready for your bill?” asked a plump woman with a kind face. Annie. Frisk smiled at her and reached for her pur— Her… Frisk's head jerked about frantically as she searched for her purse. Fuck… Fuck I left my purse! She thought, her face paling with fear. 

“I'll take care of it,” the rumble of the skeleton's deep growl of a voice startled Frisk out of her panic. She looked up at him with surprise as he moved a bit closer to her. Annie sent him a fearful look and gave a curt nod. 

“Oh no, you don't have to—”

“—Nah, I got it, it's ok. Put it on my bill,” he growled with a firm look. 

“Of course,” murmured Annie as she darted to the back. 

The two sat in utter, dumbfounded silence. 

He didn't know what came over him. He had never offered to pay for someone before, but she was honest to God the most charming person he had met in a long time… and she had stood up for him, it was the least he could do. 

Frisk stared at her lone mug of coffee. A new fear began to creep into her mind. He offered to pay for her. She should've fought that harder. The last time a man had paid for her, he harassed her for sexual favors. Only because she had accidentally let slip she was a vaudeville dancer and… the implications of that. Of course when she had refused. She winced as her eye ached with phantom pain. She got off lucky… 

She sent a small, fearful look at Sans. He was bigger than that man. He looked stronger. He was a monster so she knew he had magic. He was a reaper so she knew even for a monster, he was powerful. 

But he just smiled kindly, as kindly as one could with sharp fangs and black eye sockets only lit by pricks of red light. 

“Thank you…” she murmured hesitantly. He shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Just returnin' the favor, kiddo,” he said. Something about the word kiddo put her at ease, but she didn't know why. 

Soon the bill came and he paid for both of them. He stood up and sent her another look. Is he leaving? She couldn't help but feel disappointed. 

He placed his black trilby on his skull and winked at her. 

“I'll miss you a latte,” he quipped one last time and she pursed her lips to hide her smile; she couldn't hide her blush. Before she could say another word, he was out the door. She looked back down at the napkin. 

“Stop or I might start pie-ning.” 

She couldn't help but give a girlish giggle as she neatly folded the napkin and carefully slid it into her dress pocket. 

Yes she definitely liked the diner… it made her feel real again. Real and sweet… real and delighted. Made her feel like she was more than burlesque. 

[hookedonapirate]

Miss Fix-It

Summary: Miracle worker. Relationship Guru. Savior.

These are just a few of her monikers, but most people have taken to call her Miss Fix-It. Helping broken-hearted women get back together with their former boyfriends is her specialty. How does she do it, you ask? Simple—she becomes his date from hell so he’ll realize what a catch he had before he let her go.

Emma Swan is an expert at fixing relationships, it’s just too bad she’ll never have one of her own.

Her particular set of talents is tested, however, when a cheating ex-girlfriend requests her services. Emma’s reluctant at first. It’s not an easy task to make someone seem like a catch when they’ve cheated, but the potential client is an emotional wreck desperate to get her former boyfriend back before he heads back to England. Besides, Emma Swan never backs down from a challenge. They don’t call her Miss Fix-It for nothing. She’ll find a way to make him wish he was back in his ex-girlfriend’s arms, no matter what it takes. If only she can squash the feelings she develops for him and stop breaking her rules.

My Best Friend’s Girl meets How to Lose a Guy in 10 days.

A/N: A big shout out to @ultraluckycatnd for beta reading and to @onceuponaprincessworld for letting me share my ideas with her! 

Wow, I hadn't realized how long it's been since I updated this story until I saw the date I last posted, which was May 2020!!! I'm so sorry it's been so long. A lot has happened since then and I know I've probably lost some readers, but for those of you who have stuck around, thank you so much for your patience. I hope you enjoy the chapter ♥️

This is now part of the Captain Swan Movie Marathon collection, as it is primarily based on the movie Mr. Fix-It. Thanks @csmm for putting this together!

Also available on: AO3 l FF.N

Catch up: Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4

Chapter 5

“Hold on, love.” Killian steps back as he eyes Granny’s diner like he’s staring his worst nightmare in the face. He glances at Emma as confusion furrows her brows. “This is where you’re taking me?”

She nods. “Yeah. They have the best strawberry cheesecake pancakes. Trust me—a sugar coma is way better than an alcohol coma.”

His expression clouds with hesitation as he shakes his head. “I can’t go in. Ruby works here.”

“Not tonight.”

Killian lifts a brow. “How do you know?”

Damn. 

Emma curses herself as she keeps a straight face. Killian’s not the one who told her he went to her apartment to drop off her things; David did. “Because in the several texts Mary Margaret sent me, she mentioned Ruby was helping her with the invitations. Ruby needed a distraction.”

“Oh.” The creases in his forehead deepen. “Then why does Mary Margaret need David’s help, too?”

“I don’t know,” Emma snaps, louder than intended. Good God, this guy asks a lot of questions. “Probably because when Mary Margaret freaks out,” her eyes widen and she makes hand gestures for emphasis, “she freaks out.”

Killian scratches his ear as he looks inside the diner. “Still, I’m sure everyone who works here has heard the news and I’m not sure I want to—”

Emma grabs his hand and pulls him inside, not willing to argue about it, mostly because she doesn’t have a back-up plan. She didn’t want to make it seem like she pre-orchestrated this whole thing. He relents reluctantly and lets her lead him to a booth. “I’m not taking no for an answer. If you’ve ever had their strawberry cheesecake pancakes, you would understand.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat. It’s good comfort food.”

They sit across from each other, and when Ashley tries to give them menus, Emma holds up her hand to reject them. “We already know what we want. I’ll have my usual hot cocoa and he’ll have an order of strawberry cheesecake pancakes with extra everything and chocolate milk.”

Killian doesn’t argue with her about it.

“Okay.” Ashley puts on a smile which fades when she looks at Killian, her eyes clouding with sympathy. “I heard what happened between you and Ruby. I’m so sorry.”

Killian pins Emma with an “I told you so” glare. She offers an apologetic smile in return. “Thanks, Ashley, but I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you don’t look—”

“It’s okay, Ash,” Emma interjects, waving off Ashley’s words with her hand. “He just needs to shove down his emotions with a heaping plate of sugar and shame, wash it down with chocolate milk, and then he’ll be perfect.”

Ashley glances between them suspiciously. “Wait, is this your way of getting back at Ruby?” she asks Killian as she points at Emma with the menus in her hand.

“No, I’m not getting back at Ruby,” he grumbles through gritted teeth. He looks at Emma. “She’s a friend.”

She’s not sure why, but her heart warms at the sentiment.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Emma asks defensively. “It is a small town, and well, we both know Ruby.”

“True, I’ve just never seen you together.”

Emma refrains from sighing in exasperation. Why is everyone a fucking detective all of a sudden?

Maybe Killian was right—they should’ve gone somewhere else.

“We just met tonight,” Killian says. “She works at the Rabbit Hole, now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Ashley says in surprise.

“Can we get that hot cocoa and those pancakes now?” Emma asks impatiently, growing frustrated and a little panicked. This is exactly why she always meets her targets outside of town where people don't know her and won't ask a bunch of prying questions.

“Of course. Coming right up,” she assures before walking away.

Ashley returns a moment later with their beverages. Killian just stares blankly at his chocolate milk as Emma dips her finger in the whipped cream from her hot cocoa and brings it to her mouth, sucking off the sugary substance. Expecting Killian to watch her, she’s kind of disappointed when he doesn’t. Licking the whipped cream off her finger is a foolproof tactic that always garner’s the guy’s attention no matter what. But apparently not with Killian. Instead, he leans his elbows on the table and looks around like he’s afraid Ruby will suddenly pop into the diner at any moment.

This is going to be harder than she originally speculated.

“Look, if it really bothers you to be here, we can go somewhere else,” she sighs in retreat.

“No, it’s fine,” he says gloomily. “It’s just…” His words trail off and the earlier despair she’d witnessed on his face reappears. “This is where Ruby and I met,” he explains with a sad smile. “I came here after moving into my new apartment all day and she was my waitress.” His eyes shine with unshed tears as he recalls the night he met her like it were yesterday. “I’d had the worst day; nothing went as it was supposed to. But when I sat down at this exact booth, Ruby came over to me with the brightest smile on her face and she instantly cheered me up.” A tear slips from Killian’s eyes—a tear she could tell he was trying to fight back. “And um, we just hit it off. Her shift was ending soon, so after she clocked out, she sat across from me and we talked for hours.”

More tears slide down his cheeks. “I’ll never forget that night, no matter how much I want to forget it. No matter how much the image of seeing her with…” He pauses, his hands fisting on the table, his teeth gritting, “with my best friend.” An unexpected sob escapes him as he drops his face in his hands, and Emma scans the diner, wondering if anyone heard, but only a few customers glance over and then return their attention to either their food or the person sitting in front of them. 

When Killian cries into his palms, Emma’s heart breaks for him. He really liked Ruby—or loved; she doesn’t really know—but she could sense how torn up he was over being cheated on by her. His cries become louder and his body jerks and trembles as inhuman sounds wretch from his throat. Emma’s heart is gripped with emotion; she can feel the sadness he’s expressing from across the table. She hates seeing him like this, and it has nothing to do with the show he’s displaying for the diner patrons. 

Responding on instinct, she jumps from her seat, hurries to his side of the booth, and sits next to him, rubbing his back in soothing circles. She looks around, giving the customers who are staring a slight, apologetic smile. Normally she would never dream of sitting on the same side of the table with someone while the seat across from them is empty, but this is one of those rare exceptions.

Killian takes her off guard when he thrusts his head against her chest and winds his arms around her, sobbing into her shirt. Emma’s eyes widen in shock as she brings both hands to his back, one giving him a gentle pat. Other than that, she has no idea what to do. What do you tell someone you just met that will make them feel better when they’re sobbing uncontrollably? She can’t tell him everything will be okay, can she? 

She peers down at him, wondering how things escalated so quickly. She’d brought him to this diner specifically so the memories of Ruby would unleash the emotions he hasn’t yet expressed, hoping he would open up to her. She expected a current and maybe a little mist, but she didn’t expect the fucking dams to break. 

Emma’s blouse and chest become damp from his tears as she cards a hand through his hair, feeling him tremble in her arms. She had unfastened the first few buttons a while ago, so her chest is soaked too, and his head is cradled just above her breasts.

Not that she’s complaining.

Emma gently turns her head to look for Ashley, not wanting her to freak out over seeing him break down like he is, and when she sees their server approaching, she whispers to Killian, “Ashley’s coming over here.”

He sniffles and lifts his head, wiping the tears from his face and whispering a thanks.

Emma picks up a wrapped silverware set and removes the napkin, offering it to Killian.

“Bloody hell, love. I’m so sorry,” he mumbles in apology as he wipes his tears with the napkin.

Ashley arrives at their table, dropping off the plate of pancakes. “Strawberry cheesecake pancakes with extra everything. Anything else I can get—” She pauses when she catches Killian’s face. “Are you okay?”

He nods and wipes under his eyes with the napkin. “Aye. I’m fine. Just got something in my eye is all.”

“Uh-huh,” she says, obviously not believing him. And judging by the stink-eye Ashley’s giving her, Emma can tell she doesn’t believe she and Killian are only friends.

“He’ll be fine once he eats his pancakes,” Emma assures her.

“All right, well, let me know if there’s anything else you need,” she says directly to Killian.

“Thanks, lass,” he murmurs, staring blankly at his plate. After Ashley leaves, Emma grabs a fork, scoops up a bit of pancake and brings it to his lips. “Here, try a bite.” She thinks he might refuse it, but instead, he reluctantly opens his mouth, allowing her to feed him.

Wow, this is the weirdest date she’s ever been on.

If you can even call it a date.

Surprisingly, he chews the food in his mouth and licks his lips.

Oh my.

Emma has to look away and clench her thighs, trying to rid the thoughts of other things he could be doing with that tongue. Specifically, things he could be doing to her.

“You were right, love. These pancakes are actually making me feel better.”

His statement throws her for a loop, and she whips her head toward him, lifting a brow. “Really?”

He offers a small smile. “A little.” He takes the fork from her and stabs at another piece. “But I’ll probably stop feeling better once it’s gone, so maybe you could ask Ashley to keep the pancakes coming?”

Emma manages a small laugh. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’ll end up feeling worse than you already do.”

He frowns. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

Emma sighs into her hot cocoa and takes a sip.

Yep, she certainly has her work cut out for her.

Emma tries to change the subject by asking what his favorite bands are, but then he veers right back into the subject of Ruby when he recalls how he went to her place to return her things, which included her CDs. He mentions it because he also had his CDs at her place, but she refused to hand them over until he was willing to let her talk. But he didn’t want to talk. He just wanted to get his things and leave, but instead, he stayed and argued with her until they were both blue in the face.

Nevertheless, Emma gives him her undivided attention as he rambles on, so he feels comfortable enough to open up to her.

When he finishes the pancakes, he was right about feeling miserable again and tries to order more. Emma pays the bill before he can, and has to drag him out of the diner.

“Are you okay with driving home?” she asks when they return to the bar.

“Aye. Another benefit of having pancakes instead of rum is I can’t get drunk from pancakes.”

“Well, unless they were rum pancakes,” she points out.

His eyes light up with curiosity, and Emma gets the feeling she's created a monster. “Rum pancakes? Do they make those?”

She laughs. “Not sure, but I think the best thing to do now is sleep.”

He frowns. “I don’t know if I can. Every time I close my eyes, I picture her with him, and I can’t…” His voice cracks, and his eyes well with tears again.

Emma’s heart breaks. She knew he was torn up, but she really had no idea just how torn up he was. The old pancake trick didn’t work, all it did was make him want more pancakes, so she knows she’ll have to resort to drastic measures. Emma grabs his hand and hauls him down the sidewalk.

“Where are we going, love?” 

“You obviously need to release some major stress, and I know the perfect place where you can do that.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue—she doesn’t think he has enough energy to argue with her if he wanted to—and soon they’re standing in front of a building with a big sign above the door that reads, “Break Room Therapy” in bold blue letters and features an illustration of a pair of crossed sledgehammers.

Killian furrows his brows. “What is this place?”

Emma’s mouth falls open in shock. “I thought you lived in Storybrooke, and yet you’ve never been here?”

He shakes his head. “I see this place all the time but never knew what it really was. I always see women going in here, so I didn’t think it was a place for a lad like myself.”

Emma shakes her head. “This is a place we can go where no one will think we’re crazy if we break some shit, but it’s not just for women. We’re not the only ones who need to let off some steam sometimes.”

He cocks a brow. “Break some shit? What kind of shit?”

Emma smirks and opens the door for him, gesturing inside. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

He’s hesitant, but steps inside and she follows behind him. They approach the desk where her friend, Archie, is sitting, his face buried in a book. His office has the appearance of a typical break room, a collection of Star Wars Funko Pops on his desk, a water cooler and a life-sized statue of baby Yoda standing on a mini-fridge and holding a sign that reads, “Welcome to Break Room Therapy.”

“Appointments only,” Archie says as he lifts his eyes from his book to greet the incoming customers. His lips form a big smile when he sees Emma. “Oh, hi Emma. My apologies, I didn’t realize it was you,” he says, setting the book down and rising from his seat.

“Hey, Archie,” she greets with a smile.

“Back again so soon, I see?”

Emma nods. “Uh, yeah, but not for me. She grabs Killian’s arm who has his hands shoved in his pockets, still standing by the door with an awkward look on his face. “This is my friend, Killian. He needs to use one of your rooms.”

“Oh, right, of course.” He gestures toward the chairs in front of the desk. “Please have a seat.”

Killian still looks unsure, but complies anyway, slumping into a chair next to Emma as Archie reclaims his seat across from them.

“So what brings you in tonight?” he asks Killian.

“He got cheated on by his girlfriend,” Emma answers when she suspects Killian doesn’t want to.

His face clouds with sorrow as Archie’s saddens. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, this is the right place for you, then.”

Killian furrows his brows and looks around. “What exactly is this place?”

Archie exchanges a look with Emma before returning his attention to Killian. “This is a place where you can release some of that pent up anger you’re feeling right now.” Archie looks at Emma. “Will you be joining him?”

She nods. “Yes, please.”

He prints some papers and gives Killian and Emma both a copy, pointing out for Killian with a pen where to sign and date.

Killian scans over the forms, his forehead wrinkled in confusion as he reads a line out loud. “I hereby consent to medical treatment, which may be advisable in the event of an injury?” He looks up from the document, his face awash with confusion. “Why would I need medical treatment?”

Archie casually waves a hand. “Oh, don’t worry…as long as you follow the rules and wear the protective gear properly, you should be completely fine.”

The furrow in Killian’s brows deepens. “Why would I need protective gear?”

“To protect yourself so you don’t get broken shards in your eyes or skin, of course.”

Killian’s eyes flicker with panic. “Why would I have to worry about that?”

“Just sign it, Killian,” Emma huffs in irritation as she hands Archie her signed papers.

He puts up a hand of dismissal. “Now, now, Emma. Killian must consent to the terms voluntarily.”

“This is supposed to help me feel better?” Killian asks, still uncertain about this entire thing.

“Yes, just trust me. I come here all the time to release stress. It works like a charm. And it’s a lot of fun.”

Killian considers her words and scans over the documents once more before scribbling his signature. “Fine. I can’t possibly feel worse than I do already.” He hands Archie the signed papers.

“That’s the spirit,” Emma chants, clapping her hands.

“Excellent,” Archie says with a grin. “Let’s get you suited up.”

They rise, and Archie leads them to the equipment and protective gear. After some quick instructions, he asks them which weapons they prefer.

With each of them wearing a face shield, Killian holding a sledgehammer and Emma carrying a baseball bat, they head to one of the rooms.

“Have a smashing good time,” Archie quips and closes the door, standing outside the caged window to monitor and take pictures. The walls are made of OSB and the floor is marked up with black duct tape. There’s a round table in the center of the room with a flatscreen computer monitor situated upright.

“After you,” Emma says, gesturing toward the monitor.

Killian looks at her, still unsure. “I just smash it?”

She gives a nod. “You just smash it.”

Killian raises the hammer into the air with both hands, and with a shaky breath, he strikes the monitor with hesitant force, barely making a dent.

“Come on, Killian, you can do better than that. Just think about how angry Ruby made you when you saw her fucking your best friend. Just let yourself feel that rage and release it.” Before Emma’s done speaking, he smashes the computer again with a more powerful force than before.

“That’s it. Just let it out!” she encourages.

So he does. He turns the monitor over, so the screen is facing the ceiling, and strikes it with the sledgehammer, smashing the screen with a groan. He shatters the rest of the glass into a million pieces, much like Ruby did to his heart. But he doesn’t stop there; he strikes the computer over and over and over again until it’s nothing but a mangled and mutilated piece of scrap.

He has to pause to steady his breathing.

“Feel better?” she asks with a laugh.

“Actually, yes, that does feel quite good. What’s next?”

“Easy, tiger. It’s my turn.” Emma sets down the bat, grabs a plate from the crate of breakable items and tosses it across the room, the dish shattering into the wall with a satisfying smash. Killian follows suit and sets down the hammer to pick up a glass bottle, tossing it at the wall, watching as it disintegrates into a thousand tiny pieces.

A hint of a smile appears on his lips. “This is fun, love.”

“I told you.” She tosses another plate against the wall like a frisbee.

They each take turns, smashing items with a sledgehammer or bat, or throwing them against the wall, the room filled with sounds of heavy panting, grunts and glass breaking or plastic being obliterated. While Killian releases the whirlwind of emotions resulting from his breakup and takes out his rage for Ruby and Victor on electronic equipment, Emma takes hers out on multiple dishes for having to lie to Killian, and for feeling pressured by her best friend and Ruby to do this job in the first place. She’s spent a lot of time in this same room, but most of the time she acts out the rage she will always feel for the bastard she married and trusted before he broke her heart into a million pieces.

When they’ve gone through all the items in the crate, they both have to catch their breaths, adrenaline pumping through them, Emma’s heart pounding mercilessly in her chest. For acts that may seem so violent, smashing items with someone else feels very intimate and exhilarating for reasons she can’t really explain. They both expressed a side of each other they don’t normally show.

“Wow, that was…” he breathes, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“A good way to work off those pancakes while releasing some steam at the same time, huh?”

“Aye, it really was,” he chuckles.

They leave the room and remove their protective gear. 

“Thanks, Archie, that was a blast...or should I say, smash!” Emma quips.

“Aye, thank you,” Killian says to him appreciatively. “That actually helped a lot.”

Archie grins. “Good, I’m glad. Come back anytime.” He waves at them as they head out the door.

“Wow, that really was therapeutic,” Killian says as they reach her car, both of them facing each other. “Thank you for bringing me there. And for the pancakes.”

“Of course. What are friends for?” she adds with a wink.

“No, really, I mean it,” he says sincerely. “I felt like complete shit tonight and you managed to make me smile and laugh and feel like myself again.”

She waves off his words. “It was nothing. I’m just glad you feel better than you did.”

“I do, thanks to you.”

“Killian—” she attempts in a tone that is meant to tell him he really doesn’t have to thank her.

“Seriously, Emma, I could kiss you right now,” he chuckles. “I mean, I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

Emma gulps as she stares at his lips, wondering what they would feel like if he did kiss her. She immediately squashes the thought and lifts her eyes to gaze into those crystal blue orbs instead. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Killian steps into her space and raises a hand to her face. Her breath catches when his thumb caresses her cheek. She thinks he might actually kiss her. “Do you believe in fate?”

His question throws her for a loop and she opens her mouth, uttering a nonsensical sound as she tries to figure out how to respond to that. “Um, no, not really.”

“Well, I do. I believe we were destined to meet.”

Guilt flares inside Emma, her throat closing up. If only he knew this wasn’t destiny or fate or a fortunate stroke of serendipity. Well, meeting him at the elevator a couple of months ago was a sheer coincidence, but tonight was pre-orchestrated, and not by the universe; it was planned by her, and if he found out, she doubts he would want anything to do with her. It pains her to know he’ll hate her guts after this is all over. But she won’t blame him one bit. 

Before she gets the chance to respond, he leans in and kisses her cheek.

All the air leaves her lungs when his lips touch her skin, her brain becomes mush and she closes her eyes, trying not to dissolve into a puddle.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, his voice cracking, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“But if us meeting each other was actually part of some predetermined plan, then wouldn't we run into each other again without having to make plans?”

He chuckles. “Perhaps.” He becomes quiet as his eyes grow serious. “But maybe I'm not willing to take that chance.”

Her throat becomes dry as sandpaper. She was not expecting an answer like that. He's the one who brought up the possibility of fate being on their side, yet he's not willing to take the chance he's wrong. Even though he knows where she works and where her friends live. 

Now she knows why Ruby fell for him. Well, she kind of already figured it out, but now she knows it was more than just his charming good looks, his boyish grin or his penis size.

“Um, yeah. Okay,” she answers against her better judgment. This is all going faster than she’d expected. She meant to part ways without making plans, and instead run into him “accidentally” again, but now she’s finding it impossible to deny his request. Besides, if they did run into each other “accidentally” then, for him, it would only solidify his belief that fate brought them together, and she'd feel horrible about that. Even more horrible than she already feels. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

He offers a sly grin, his tongue flirting with his lips. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

She shakes her head and smiles. “Well played.” She reaches out her hand. “Let me see your phone.”

He takes it out and unlocks it before handing the device to her without hesitation.

She plugs in her phone number and sends herself a text so she’ll recognize the number when he calls. She hands it back to him. “There, now you have my phone number, and I have yours.”

“Thanks, love.” He tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans.

“Are you good to drive?”

He laughs. “Are you kidding? Smashing that computer sobered me up real quick. But I didn’t have a lot to drink to begin with, thanks to you,” he adds with a smirk.

She nods and feels her cheeks warm at the way he looks at her. “That’s true.”

He goes around her to open the driver’s door. God, this guy really knows how to make a woman feel special, even one he's not dating.

“This isn’t even a date and you’re still a gentleman,” she teases with a playful smirk.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he says with a cheeky grin. A grin so cheeky, her heart staggers. “Goodnight, Emma. Thanks again for tonight.”

“Night,” she murmurs, her heart clenching at the thought of leaving him. When he shuts the door, their eyes are still locked through the window, and the door that separates them doesn’t seem to help her at all, because her heart is pounding, and her breaths are shallow as his eyes pierce right through her.

He waves, and she waves back at him before starting her car. He finally turns and walks to his truck, his hands in his pockets as she watches him. Her heart squeezes in her chest when he increases the distance between them. She has to leave so he doesn’t think she’s just sitting there staring at him, which she definitely is.

She pulls away from the curb and drives away, hating herself for leaving him. But she has no idea why it hurts so much. She just met him a few hours ago. Well technically she met him a couple of months ago, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is, this guy is already clawing his way inside her heart, trying to make a home there and making her second guess her decision to help Ruby out. Why is it the one time she finds a guy she actually likes, he has to be one of the guys she’s trying to get back together with his girlfriend?

If destiny actually does exist, then it must be mocking her. 

Or perhaps this job is destiny’s way of helping her protect her own heart. Because if she can’t have anything real with him, then she can’t actually get hurt.

Right?

@onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @artistic-writer @ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @sophiaaz @becausetheyrehappythisway @thislassishooked @hookedmom @resident-of-storybrooke @kateroselin @chamomileandmint @kday426 @sals86 @lawgeeks @yasbio2015 @xsajx @delightfully-difficult-pirate @snowbellewells @wanderingjpg @squidvisious @tenaciouskittynight @biefaless @animatedshorts @lassluna @ejunkiet @melsbels @meat-pie-with-sauce @roseyflush @ivalane @tiganasummertree @nowforruin @qualitycoffeethings @nikkiemms @oncechicagolove @theonewiththeory @lostinwonderland314 @darkcolinodonorgasm @arshini01 @companion-mala @carpedzem @youareafeverdream @maguilar1028 @mayquita @courtorderedcake @shady-swan-jones @timeless-love-story @laschatzi @officerrogers @spartanguard @andiirivera @ouatpost @jarienn972 @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree

[arieswonjin]

softbound; p.1

title: softbound; (modern royalty au)

pairings: bookshop owner!allen ma x princess!reader

genre: fluff, some angst

word count: 4.3k (p.1) 

navigation: teaser; p.1; p.2; epilogue;

warnings: none

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

story playlist; (pls this is cute)

a/n: first part of my fic exchange with @cravicton​

the one-seater sofa you were nestled in was threadbare and faded, but its old charm was what made it the perfect finishing piece to your little nook. 

it sat between two wooden shelves, the excellent fit making it look like it's been specially made to be placed in that very corner of the downtown bookshop. the seat dipped down significantly after hours and hours spent carrying weight as people momentarily escaped from their mundane days and glided through one fictional world into another where they could live some other life apart from the one they had in this modern 21st-century town. 

it was probably fate telling you to savor life’s simpler pleasures, having found the bookshop in one of your low-profile tours of the kingdom—one of your responsibilities as a ruler in training. you’ve been coming here ever since to no one but your assistant’s knowledge.

in the three years that passed, you couldn't remember if you have seen the seemingly insignificant yet inviting piece of furniture you were sitting on ever look new or if there was anybody in your town who has used it as much as you have.

what you did know was that every time you came to get lost in reading, a new trinket prepared by the bookshop's only owner, allen, would always be waiting on top of it. a book with a marked page, illustrations that reminded him of you, or simple items that made you smile were always accompanied by a mug of dark cocoa placed on top of a nearby shelf with a neat coaster. and don't forget the little note signed with a tiny, almost reluctantly-drawn, heart. 

tonight, it was a newly-bought knitted blanket the color of lush forests in autumn. you wrapped it around yourself the moment you sat down and you noticed that it smelled like old books and oat-scented candles. "because it's almost your favorite season," the note said. 

“how's my best customer enjoying their favorite spot tonight?” allen's face appeared peeking through a small space between the books to your right. he smiled, eyes and all, seeing you cradled in the knitted blanket with a book propped up with your knees, his warm mug in your hand.

allen was doing his nightly rounds, making sure new book arrivals were well stacked and sorted before he called it a day and went home. seeing you still immersed in reading a few minutes before the shop's closing time was not a new sight to him. in fact, it was how he finished many of his more enjoyable workdays.

"you know, if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you." you took a sip of the dark cocoa and raised an eyebrow at him, ignoring the question. "with hot cocoa like this every time they're here? i'm surprised people aren't lining up outside."

allen didn't stop smiling and raised an eyebrow back to tease you, "so that means you're enjoying it?" he asked, making his way around the shelves and towards your sofa, plopping himself down on one of its arms.

the answer to his question was apparent with the relaxed way you were sitting, but you answered him anyway. "yes, allen. as always. thank you." you looked up at him, smiling sincerely and noticing how his warm stare didn’t falter.

"i like this one." he tapped the spine of the book you were holding, the white palace, by tom lee. allen always liked discussing books you’ve both read, going over details you yourself would have missed. he looked at you, taking the softbound item in his hand. “princess…”

you kept yourself from choking on your drink. for the past three years, a set of unusual circumstances led to allen still being clueless that you, his bookshop’s most avid patron, were indeed a crowned princess. 

did he finally hear about who you were? you really wanted to be the one to tell him and you were planning to do it soon, but he must’ve found the timing impeccable, seeing you read a novel about royalty then and there. 

you braced yourself for the questions, gathering up remnants of an unfinished explanation that you wanted to save for later.

“….princess mary, was that her name? the main character?” you inwardly sighed in relief and nodded.  maybe not. but soon.“how are you liking it so far?”

"i think it's quite exaggerated, the way they described the king and queen's private life. you know, they have an ordinary side to them, too. more than you would think.” you replied.

"mmhmm." he nodded thoughtfully like he always does when you expressed your opinion, like he was doing his best to grasp your perspective. “fiction has that tendency. and what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner?” 

you shrugged and patted the small space beside you on the one-seater. what are the chances of the princess getting married to a commoner? you turned the question over and over in your head. 

"i already closed up the entrance, but we can stay for another hour again if you want? wouldn't be the first time," allen said, accepting your silent offer and laughing at how both of you fit snuggly on the sofa, his chest pressed against your shoulder and his arms draped behind you. 

"how about just another five minutes? i actually have to go earlier today. work." you offered him a sip from the mug to which he obliged, putting his hands over yours as he sipped up the warm drink. "but this is just too comfortable to pass up." you finished. 

after a few lovely minutes, you helped allen close the bookshop. both of you walked side by side, taking the small path to the main road. the space between you two was almost nonexistent as the cold fall evening made you seek for each other’s warmth, however slight. 

you loved this, the comfortable silence he always gave you when you were about to part. he wasn’t too keen about asking you questions and was contented with listening only to what you wanted to share. he never asked, for instance, why you always refused to let him bring you home. instead, he told you almost a hundred times to be careful on the way. 

"i'm glad you enjoyed your nook today.” he faced you and you smiled at his words, giving him an intuitive peck on the cheek to which he scrunched his nose in delight. i enjoyed it too much, you thought. sometimes, being there made you forget that you were in line to rule an entire kingdom. you wanted to say this but decided against it. next time. i promise. “be careful on the way back, okay?” 

you nodded at him to go ahead. he never ever failed to look back at you at least thrice while walking away. 

tonight, you counted four. 

finally, he turned a corner and you sighed.

"your highness." a car stopped in front of you not even a minute after, its front windows rolling down to reveal your assistant. you remember specifically asking him not to open the car door for you when he drops you off and picks you up a block away from the bookshop, things he still remembers to do until now. 

you opened the door and sat yourself down on the backseat. "thanks, serim." 

upon getting in, you knew serim was ready to update you about any developments on your current dealings, the most pertinent one being the donor’s ball, the first-ever palace event your parents, the king and queen, were letting you host on your own. 

“there are some catering concerns that need to be finalized and i was told the guestlist for the donor’s ball is ready for you, your highness. when would you want to view it?” 

“tonight is fine. it would be great if it was brought to the drawing-room when we arrive.” 

“i’ll have it arranged. and a slot needs filling. one of the donors said they were withdrawing the donations for the children’s home, your highness,” serim reported, an undertone of annoyance just barely showing through at the said withdrawal.

“is it kim’s pages inc.?” you leaned your head on the window of the car and saw serim nod. “that’s fine. we have two weeks. that should be enough to find a replacement. let’s have a message sent to similar companies in town.” 

“right away, your highness.”

you made a mental list of your commitments for the rest of the week, knowing you’d have no free time to have another one of your nights at the bookshop with allen for a few days. but this was your reality and you weren’t complaining. you were bringing people the help they needed. telling allen would have to wait.

"oh, and serim?” you leaned forward to peak at his face through the rearview mirror. 

"yes, your highness?” 

“remember when i told you not to call me ‘your highness’?”

“yes….your highness.” he shifted in his seat, holding back a snort.

"you don't have to call me that when we're alone. we're practically siblings and it feels weird. just casually, okay? and take those sunglasses off, it’s evening.” you patted his shoulder playfully from the backseat, all the walls of professionalism crumbling down with your high-pitched laughter.

"alright, y/n." he laughed and cleared his throat, loosening up at your signal. 

serim, the only person inside the palace you could freely confide in when you were growing up, became your assistant at your request. his family has worked for the palace for years and no one could do the job better than him. ”since we're acting like actual buddies now, how's that bookshop owner doing? you told him already?” he asked, pulling up to the front gates of your residence which opened automatically at the sight of your vehicle.

"i will. soon.” 

your decision to not appear on television, or any platform for that matter, even while you were accomplishing work for public service was something your family never questioned. in fact, they supported it, knowing what scrutiny could do to a young woman still finding her character. 

that said, allen not knowing that you were a member of the royal family was not a big surprise, as you were less of a household face than the rest of the monarchy. you deliberately avoided media and the public eye with the help of your dedicated staff, but this didn't mean you dodged your responsibilities. you were busy as can be, meeting partners in private meetings, arranging food and basic support for local shelters, and making sure the palace helpers were well-compensated. 

allen’s bookshop was your breath of relief after a long day. in fact, the morning after spending hours at your small second home always made you feel like you were living a double life—from the worn-down sofa and aged bookshelves to the grand halls and luxurious decorative pieces of the palace.

“honey, i heard you were working until 2 am last night. you should really be getting rest. you know how busy we’ll all be on the day of the ball.” the queen greeted you with a frown as you approached the breakfast table set under a small gazebo in the middle of the palace garden. you sat down and were faced with a complete breakfast setup of the best eggs, toast, fruit, and all kinds of beverages, ready for you like they always were in the mornings. 

“good morning, darling.” the king greeted you after taking a sip of coffee. he eyed your mother, urging her to greet you good morning before the rest of her concerned reminders. “have some breakfast. you’ll need it with the way you’re bustling nowadays.”

“yes, father. and don’t worry, mother, we just had some unexpected things to iron out,” you assured your parents. with you taking care of the event for the first time ever, you knew they just wanted things to go smoothly.

the donor's ball was hosted every fall. its main purpose was to gather potential partners that will support the charities under the royal family’s care. it did mean going out and being seen more than you would like, but it was the perfect opportunity to bring more to your constituents. you couldn't pass up the additional support for your advocacies. 

but to add to that, your parents seemed to think the donor’s ball had another purpose.

“the kangs are on the guestlist. i heard they were bringing their heir, minhee,” your mother shared, trying to sound nonchalant, but you knew exactly what she was hinting at. “right?” she nudged your father who almost choked on his buttered roll. 

“right. jungmo is coming too. remember him? your horseback riding partner?” your father asked. 

“when i was 12? yes, father. i remember. and for the nth time…” you smiled at both of them patiently. “i’m marrying neither minhee nor jungmo.”

the king and queen merely looked at each other. their attempts to push you to meet potential grooms in the donor’s ball were now out of the picture. 

“it’s alright, i got it, thank you.” you smiled at the palace helper and took the pot of tea from her hands, pouring your own cup. 

“then who will it be, y/n? you know we always let you do what you think is best for you, but we only had one request: good in-laws.” the king asked, still sounding gentle as ever despite his hard exterior and the ever-so-pressing question. 

“you get a choice, dear.” your mother smiled at you over the breakfast table. “you can find someone to marry yourself or you can entrust the task to me.” 

“i’m on it.” you said almost inaudibly before taking a bite of your breakfast. 

“come again?” your parents were all ears now. never hearing anything about the state of your heart was the norm for them, so you suddenly saying that you were ‘on it’ was quite the surprise. 

you figured that if you were going to tell allen who you really were and how you really felt about him soon, your parents might as well know before they did anything funny, like set you up with kang minhee for example. minhee was great, but he was not allen. 

“what if i want to marry the owner of that small bookstore?” you asked more confidently than before. they were silenced for a few seconds, again exchanging looks, but later on, they merely shrugged like they realized just who they were talking to. by now, they would have gotten used to how unpredictable their only child could be. 

“then they had better pass their background checks. oh, and of course, we will have to interview them.” your mother explained. “—and don’t worry, i’ll tell your father not to scare them away.” she added after seeing that you were about to protest. to this, your father simply rolled his eyes, making the palace helpers giggle behind you. they always loved witnessing the rather casual exchanges you had with your parents. 

“alright.” you smiled, grateful that you three reached an understanding. you were anxious, yes. how is he going to take this? but you were also visibly giddy. you had too many butterflies in your stomach to worry about anything else. the technicalities would have to be taken care of some other time. “you’re going to love him.”

your parents smiled at you purely, “we can’t wait to meet him.”

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” allen shook his head, chuckling by himself inside his humble studio apartment. he was cooking up a simple lunch when he remembered what you told him the day before. unconsciously, he caught himself hoping that it was a masked confession. allen knew it was a reach, trying to deduce how you felt just from those words, but seeing how close you two have become—the lingering gazes, warm hugs, and pecks on the cheek—he hoped he had a chance to have his feelings reciprocated openly. it’s probably time to clear out where both of you stood. it’s been 3 years after all. 

the first time you ever stepped inside the bookshop, allen thought you were terribly overdressed. it was just at the break of spring and summer. you entered the shop alone and almost unnoticed, with allen’s back turned and you making the door chimes sound softer than they usually do. he actually only realized you were inside the shop when he saw you perusing the aisle containing contemporary mystery novels. with the beige sundress and huge sunglasses that you wore, one wouldn’t assume that you were from that town. 

“hi, uhm, are you a tourist?” allen asked, ready to offer his help if you said yes. however, he was not looking directly at you but at the book you had in your hands. it was one of the novels in his shop he was not very fond of due to its unnecessary wordiness and lack of research. 

“uhm, no. but i am new to this shop. they have a good selection, huh?” you paused and chuckled at the expression on allen’s face. “don’t worry, i’m not fond of his writing, either.”

“huh?” with a confused expression, he looked up at your face for the first time.

“i noticed you were squinting at it,” you said, raising the book up to eye level. 

“ah, i’m sorry.” a bashful laugh sounded throughout the bookshop. allen looked like he could be your age but he carried himself like a young child meeting someone for the first time. “but you have to admit, his book covers feel very satisfying.” 

“that’s the only reason why i was holding it. to feel it.” you laughed along with him and noticed that he was carrying a stack of at least 10 books. you removed your sunglasses to have a closer look at the titles. “you’re buying all of that?” 

“no, no. i— uh, own the shop, actually. just reorganizing.” he said shyly, not used to introducing himself to a customer because everyone in the neighborhood who came to buy from him already knew this fact.

“oh! and here i was asking you about your own selections! lovely shop, by the way, sir…?” 

“allen. just allen.” he held out his hand. when he asked for your name with complete curiosity and with no trace of recognition on his face, you knew that this was going to be a new and interesting place to be. from then on, his bookshop was the only place outside the palace to witness your unquenchable thirst for reading. 

with every visit, your relationship with allen bloomed from awkward exchanges of greetings and smiles to a routine of long-winded discussions—ranging from the sweet and the natural to the borderline debate-like—a welcome sign that you have grown comfortable in each other’s presence. aside from the fact that he still did not know a single thing about your family background, both of you could say that you’ve come to know each other well, even up to the smallest habits and preferences. 

allen could not remember when he realized that he always missed you terribly on the days you wouldn’t come. he did not know when he started to want to hold you while you had your nose up in a book. he also couldn’t tell at what point in time in the past three years his heart started beating faster at every soft tinkling sound of the door chime, always wishing it was you who entered when he turned and looked.  

although he was not sure exactly when he fell for you, he’s more than certain that he wanted to be able to spend time with you and maybe have a future with you outside of the confines of his store. 

“if you treat every customer like this, they might end up falling for you.” the next time you came, he was going to tell you that he’s never done special gestures like that for any other customer. his heart simply becomes happy making you smile and he’ll be glad to continue doing so for as long as you let him. 

allen smiled by himself again, thinking about the mug of hot cocoa and heartfelt confession he was going to give you when you come back.

it’s been a few days since you last got the chance to take a break from your endless meetings. the two weeks leading up to the ball clouded your mind with nothing but work, work, and work. the one free night you had before the ball was tomorrow and you would usually be feeling excited at the thought of seeing allen and being cradled by pages of fiction in your spot between the shelves. but with the case at hand, all you could do was worry. the excitement upon telling your parents about him was now replaced with a rabbit hole of concern. 

“i can hear your heart racing through the phone lines, y/n…” your best friend said through the phone call. staying in your room cooped up with your thoughts just wasn’t going to do it. you needed someone who was not on edge to put you in the right mindset for tomorrow and no one could do it better than your childhood best friend, who just so happened to be the young prince of a neighboring kingdom. 

“i know, hyeongjun. be the prince that you are and give me your thoughts, please.” you leaned your back on one of the pillars of your balcony, staring out at the wide expanse of your town and the few flickering lights in the distance. you wondered if allen was closing up his shop right this very moment. 

“before that… tell me. why do you like this allen?” hyeongjun asked. as you knew he wasn’t one to judge based on status or occupation, you obliged. 

“well…” you started to fill him in right from the very beginning. your eyes were still looking out at the town, but your mind was replaying your typical visits to the shop like a movie reel. 

you told hyeongjun about how your heart would do somersaults seeing allen sitting on the front desk, looking dashing even in just a simple sweater; about how his eyes would light up when he turned and saw you enter the shop; how he would look down and have a tint of red on his cheeks, catching himself in the middle of a rant when you listened to his stories with a loving gaze and undivided attention.

you smiled dreamily as you continued to narrate how you found the very first note allen left for you. it was placed on top of a stack of aged books at the shelf you frequented. the note said: “y/n. because i noticed you seemed to love horror fiction. these are some of my favorites. tell me what you think about them? :)” you looked over at the front desk, meeting his eyes which were already looking in your direction. you gave him a thumbs up, earning an excited smile from him. 

before you left the bookshop that day, you noticed a bunch of crumpled post-it notes inside the bin beside the front door, some of them with longer messages, some with scribbled out hearts and more smiley faces. you chuckled, imagining how flustered he must’ve been while deciding what to write before finally settling for the simpler message instead. 

you jumpily described your surprise at how, several months after you first met, allen dared to hold your hand and pull you between the wooden shelves to show you the seat he set up just for you; how he would smile when you told him his shop brought you comfort; how the hours spent with him are the longest you could go without being served or addressed as a noble, but as a beloved friend and maybe even more.

“and his mind… he knows more things than i could possibly know. he’s smart. but he still listens to me like everything i say is brand new to him. he’s no prince, but he’s left me more to think about than any other prince i’ve met. no offense, hyeongjun. you know i love you.”

“none taken.” hyeongjun breathed out, taking in everything you said. “just now, it sounded like you were reading me a fairytale. y/n, i know you’re already a real princess, but you saying such things makes me think you’re a princess out of actual fantasy.”

“hyeongjun…” you whined, not understanding where he was going with this. 

“okay, look. i don’t think it was for the fear of him treating you differently that you still have not told him about your background,” he rationalized. hyeongjun has always been a bubbly friend, but you could rely on him to be wise and objective when you needed it the most. “it was the comfort that he brought you after a long day. maybe it was the way he treated you like an equal that kept you contented with what he knows about you at this point in time.” 

you stayed silent and felt the waves of worry ebbing away because of how accurately he described your situation.

“my point is, y/n, if he was everything you described him to be, he would understand why you took this long to tell him. don’t get ahead of yourself, okay?” hyeongjun asked. “but if he reacts negatively, i can always send some of my personal guards to talk it out with him and—“ 

“hyeongjun!”

“i’m kidding! i just wanted to make you laugh,” he said giggling. you shook your head and laughed along with him, feeling yourself gaining more will to face the next day. the sigh you had now was one of partial relief

“thank you… i mean it.” you told him. “see you at the ball?” 

“it’s your first donor’s ball. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

[stormspe]

The Battle Café

Summary: Café Partenaire is a modest little battle café run by the Kalos Pokédex holders. Their specialty? Giving customers a fun and exciting Multi Battle experience. Today, it's just business as usual at the café - but the first two Trainers who order battles are certainly going to make the routine a little more interesting.

Length: 5,159 words

Notes: This was written as part of a collab with Koi (@altevolantt​) and Aero (@pk-freezer-burnt​)! The two of them worked together to create the gorgeous art that accompanies this fic. And as it's still his birthday in my timezone, I'd like to wish X a very happy birthday!

If you’d prefer: [Read on Ao3] [Read on FFN]

Convincing X to start a battle café with her may have been one of the best decisions of Y’s life.

She’d come up with the idea after visiting one of Lumiose City’s famous battle cafés and being disappointed by the lack of enthusiasm the staff had for their craft. They were so focused on delivering the highest-quality food and a refined dining experience fitting of the number of “stars” their restaurant held that the battles themselves were stuffy and bland. Y wanted to give people a fun and exciting battle experience on top of delicious food, and who better to help her with that than her battle-savvy best friend?

Y loves running the café with X. They’ve got a good system going – X busses tables and prepares the food and drinks while Y does the waitressing. Emma helps X out in the kitchen and takes over as waitress while X and Y are battling customers. The café gets busy sometimes, but Y finds that busyness to be part of the fun. She challenges herself to get to know every one of their customers personally – everyone’s got their own story to tell, and Y loves to hear them.

X, on the other hand, isn’t a huge fan of the work or the people, but for him the battles more than make up for it. He enjoys getting to battle casual Trainers in low-stakes battles, where no one is watching him and judging his every move. He likes getting to learn from other Trainers, too. Everyone has their own unique battle style, and X looks for the interesting and effective elements of each opponent’s style and incorporates them into his own battling.

The café is located on the outskirts of Lumiose City, so they get a lot of tourist traffic – which means a wide variety of people for Y to meet and X to learn from. It’s always exciting to see people from all over the world grace their humble little battle café. There’s never a dull moment in a place where Kalosians are serving Kantonians, Hoennians, Unovans, and Galarians all under one roof.

“Hey, X, when you’ve got a minute, table 4 needs to be cleared,” Y calls as she picks up a round of smoothies from the order window. “And we’ve got one new order!”

“But still no battles?”

“Still no battles.” Y sighs. “Even I’m itching for a fight at this point. What a slow day.”

“If it were a slow day, I wouldn’t need you to tell me which tables are in need of bussing,” X grunts, appearing at the kitchen entrance with a washcloth and bin for dirty dishes. He heads for table 4 while Y brings her tray of smoothies to the customers at table 1.

Just then, the front doorbell jingles and a teenager around her age walks in. Y doesn’t recognize him and he just stops in the doorway, so he must be a new customer. “Hi, welcome!” she calls, waving at him with one hand while balancing the tray of drinks on the other. “Grab a menu off the podium there, have a seat, and I’ll be with you in a minute!”

The teen grins and gives her a little wave back. Y smiles and gets back to work, delivering the smoothies to table 1 and asking the group if they need anything else. When they decline, she heads back to the kitchen to drop off the empty tray. Then she’s off to the freshly cleared table 4, where the teen has taken a seat.

As she approaches the table, she pulls out a pen, her notepad, and an exuberant smile. “Welcome to Café Partenaire! First time here?”

The teen looks up from the menu and grins sheepishly. “Yeah. Was I that obvious?”

“I’ve got a good memory for my customers, and you didn’t look like you knew what you needed to do when you came in,” Y says. “Sounds like you’re not from around here, either. Galarian?”

“Spot on!” the teen exclaims, eyes widening. “You’re really good at this, mate!”

“Call me Y,” she says. “And I’ve had a lot of practice. Usually I can even distinguish between North and South Galarian accents, but…yours is a bit harder to pin down.”

The teen nods thoughtfully. “I’m from Postwick, in south Galar. But my big bro’s lived in Wyndon most my life, and I’ve got friends all over. So I don’t have a really strong South Galarian accent.”

“Oh, interesting,” Y says. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“I’m Hop!”

“Nice to meet you, Hop. What can I get for you?” she asks, readying her notepad.

“I’ll take the café special!” Hop declares, slapping his menu down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

Y’s smile grows, and she tucks her notepad back into her pocket. It’s about time. She collects payment up front, as usual, and informs Hop that the café special comes with a complimentary beverage. He orders a Soda Pop, and she tells him it’ll be right out.

“Soda Pop for table 4!” Y announces, striding into the kitchen.

X perks up at that; there’s a gleam in his eye when he turns away from the fryer. “Watch these,” he orders, pointing to the currently cooking basket of fries. Y nods. X grabs a bottle of Soda Pop from the refrigerator and heads out into the dining room.

Offering a complimentary beverage with the café special was one of X’s best ideas. Its purpose is threefold. One, it ensures that the customer is properly hydrated before their battle. (For the same reason, Y intends to make sure X drinks something when he gets back.) Two, it gives X the opportunity to meet the customer and get an idea of their skill level. Three, it gives the customer something to do while they wait for someone else to order the café special. They don’t want to make their customers wait too long for a battle, but it’s far more fun when two customers order the special around the same time.

The fries have cooked to a nice golden brown by the time X returns to the kitchen. “So? Your thoughts?” Y asks.

“He’s friendly,” X says. “Maybe a little too friendly. I asked him how long he’d been a Trainer, not for his whole life story.”

“Aw, I wanted to hear his whole life story. I bet it’s fascinating .”

“Really? I didn’t realize you had a thing for foreign boys. Or is it just Galarian ones?”

“Jealous, are we?” Y smirks. She throws her arms around X’s neck. “Don’t worry, you don’t have anything to fear from foreign boys like Hop.” She leans closer so she can whisper in his ear. “It’s only the cute ones that you need to worry about.”

“Please get a room.”

Y yelps and stumbles backwards, letting go of X. He grabs onto her arm to steady her. “Emma! How long have you been standing there?”

“Since I realized you had stopped paying attention to the fries and were letting them burn,” she says in her usual quiet, matter-of-fact way. “Don’t you have customers to be serving?”

“Oh, uh – right,” Y stammers. She turns back to X, gives him a quick peck on the cheek, and hurries back out to the dining room.

Hop and the triplets at table 1 are still right where she left them, but Selphy from table 2 and Kiri from table 3 have both finished their food and headed out. In addition, there’s a new customer standing at the entrance, flipping disinterestedly through a menu. Like Hop, he’s a teenage boy who appears to be around her age. Unlike Hop, he has rather guarded body language and a serious expression on his face.

“Hi there! Sorry for the wait,” Y says, rushing over to table 2. “Let me clear off this table for you–”

“I’m here for a battle,” the teen interrupts, looking up from the menu.

Y blinks. No one’s ordered the café special all day, and now they have two requests for it in a row? She’s not complaining, but it’s an odd coincidence. “Excellent! I’ll finish clearing off this table so you can have a seat, and–”

“I don’t need a seat,” he says, leveling a glare at her. “I’m not here to eat. I just want a battle.”

Y takes a deep breath in and lets it out. They get these kinds of customers from time to time – the ones who are either too impatient or too arrogant to listen to her and follow the standard procedure for battling. They get on her nerves every time, but in the interest of professionalism, she tries not to let it show.

“Here at Café Partenaire, we provide full sit-down service to our customers,” she says. “If you’d like to order the café special, you’ll need to have a seat first.”

“That’s stupid! You can’t fight a battle sitting down.”

Y grits her teeth. “You won’t be sitting down for the battle. But there’s things that have to be done before you can battle–”

“Skip those, then. I want to get to the battle.”

“–including payment ,” Y says forcefully. “We don’t offer battles for free, you know.”

The teen at least has the decency to look a little abashed at that.

“Just sit down, mate!” Hop yells. “The longer you argue with her, the longer it’s gonna take for you to get your battle.”

The teen side-eyes Hop, but with an exaggerated huff, relents. Y finishes clearing off the table, he has a seat, and she gets his payment and drink order.

She doesn’t immediately take the order back to the kitchen, though. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know we didn’t start off on the right foot, but I do like to get to know all my customers. My name is Y. What’s yours?”

He glances at her, glare still on his face. On closer inspection, though, she realizes that there doesn’t seem to be any real heat behind the look; maybe that intense gaze is just a neutral expression for him.

“Hugh,” he says.

“Where are you from, Hugh?” she asks. She can tell by his accent that he’s from Unova, but Unovan accents vary even more than Galarian ones, and her Unovan geography is a little rusty.

“Aspertia City. Unova,” he says. Her lack of recognition must be evident on her face, because he adds without prompting, “Southwest Unova.”

“Ooh, I see. I’m from Vaniville Town, right here in Central Kalos,” Y says. “It’s nice to meet you! My partner will be back with your drink in a moment.”

Y heads back to the kitchen and finds X and Emma engrossed in a game of pick-up sticks using burnt fries. “Lemonade for table 2!” she declares. “Also, X, table 3 needs bussing. C’mon, pick up the slack!”

“Another special already?” X says, straightening up. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s great!” Y grins. “Now hurry up and bring the new customer his drink so we can get to the battle!”

After X leaves, Emma starts tallying up her and X’s scores. Y leaves her to it, pouring a new basket of fries and putting them in the fryer. But Emma quickly takes over that, shooing Y back out to the dining room. That’s fair; Emma doesn’t need a new set of pick-up sticks to play with.

Speaking of which – “Who won the game?”

“I did.”

“Good for you!”

When Y returns to the dining room, she’s disappointed to find that the triplets have left, killing her chances of catching up on the latest news from Striaton City. However, that’s made up for by the fact that Trevor has dropped by the café on his lunch break. She greets him with a big hug and listens as he emphatically describes the new experiment that he and Professor Sycamore are conducting. Once she notices X has returned to the kitchen, though, she has to end the conversation and get back to work.

“So, battle meister, what’s your final assessment?” Y asks as soon as she enters the kitchen.

“They’re both experienced Trainers,” X reports. “Hugh’s been battling longer, but Hop has more competitive battling experience. They’ll both make interesting opponents.”

“Awesome!” Y exclaims. “Feels like it’s been ages since we last had a tough opponent. This is gonna be so much fun!”

~

Once Hugh and Hop have both finished their drinks, it’s finally time for the battle. Y volunteers to escort Hop up to the battlefield, which leaves X to escort Hugh.

“Hey, sorry about the wait!” Y says as she approaches table 4.

Hop’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “Is it time for the battle?”

“You bet! Follow me!”

She leads Hop to the staircase on the side of the café. “Oh, so the battlefield is on the second floor?” he asks.

“Even better!” Y replies.

She opens the door at the top of the staircase and walks out onto the roof. Hop gasps behind her. “Welcome to the official battlefield of Café Partenaire!” she exclaims, spreading her arms.

The battlefield itself isn’t terribly impressive, just a bunch of white lines painted on the concrete roof. However, the view from up here of Parterre Way’s gardens and perfectly trimmed hedge mazes with Lumiose City in the distance is gorgeous.

“Um, isn’t it a little dangerous to be battling on top of a roof with no guardrails or anything?” Hop asks.

Y laughs. “And Pokémon battles aren’t dangerous? Don’t worry,” she says, patting him on the shoulder. “The battlefield’s nowhere near the edge of the roof, so we’re not in any danger of falling off!”

“Right,” Hop says, but he still doesn’t look convinced. “So…where’s my opponent?”

“He’ll be up in a minute,” Y says.

A few moments later, X emerges onto the roof with Hugh following close behind. Hugh doesn’t spend much time observing the battlefield, instead staring immediately at Y and Hop. He narrows his eyes as they approach. “I have to fight him ?” he asks.

“Nope!” Y responds cheerfully, clapping Hop on the shoulder and pushing him closer to Hugh. “He’s your partner!”

“Partner!?” both boys exclaim simultaneously.

“Y’see, the thing about Café Partenaire that makes it a little different from the battle cafés you’ll find in Lumiose is that we specialize in Multi Battles,” Y explains with a wink. “When two Trainers both order the café special, they’ll have to work together to defeat our staff if they want to earn the special prize!”

“So who do we have to fight?” Hugh demands.

Y grins, taking a few steps back from the customers. She glances to her right, where X has moved to stand next to her. He gives her a curt nod, and she nods back. Then, moving in sync, they both untie their aprons from their waists and fling them aside.

“You’ll be battling us!”

Y always loves seeing the look of shock on customers’ faces when they realize they’re going to be battling the people who were just serving them moments before. Hugh’s eyes only widen for a moment before returning to their usual intense stare, but Hop gapes at them like a Magikarp out of water.

“You – you’re serious? You guys are the super-tough opponents that we’re supposed to battle?” Hop exclaims.

“Never judge a Trainer’s skill by their appearance,” Hugh says. He folds his arms and looks Hop up and down. “You don’t look like you’re all that yourself, but you must be a strong Trainer or you wouldn’t be here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I look weak!?” Hop shouts, intruding in Hugh’s personal space. He’s only a few inches taller, but standing that close to Hugh makes it look like Hop towers over the other boy.

“I’m not saying you look strong,” Hugh says coldly, glaring up at him.

Y glances at X with a hint of concern. Throwing strangers into a battle together is a little risky because they don’t always get along, but they don’t usually get this openly hostile towards each other before the battle’s even started. She definitely didn’t expect this much hostility from Hop – he’d been so friendly and nice with her. If they clash this much outside of battle, she can already tell that the battle itself will be a disaster. “Should we do something?” she whispers.

X shrugs. “If they really want to battle us, they’ll figure it out.”

Hop finally leans back and folds his hands behind his head. “Well, it doesn’t matter whose accomplishments as a Trainer are better or whatever,” he says. “We’re not fighting each other. So you’ll see just how skilled I am when we’re fighting them” – he points at X and Y – “on the battlefield.”

“The best place to evaluate a Trainer’s skill,” Hugh agrees with a curt nod of the head.

“Then let’s do this together and win that special prize!” Hop declares, holding out his hand. “The name’s Hop, by the way.”

“Hugh,” Hugh says, shaking it.

“Sounds like you’re ready to battle!” Y says with a relieved smile. “Let’s get in position, shall we?”

The four Trainers take their places on the battlefield – Hop and Hugh on the side closest to the stairs, X and Y on the far side. Once everyone’s in position, Y explains the rules: a two-on-two Multi Battle, with each Trainer only being allowed a single Pokémon. Whichever team manages to knock out both of the opposing team’s Pokémon is declared the winner.

“I’m counting on you, Veevee!”

“Let’s do this, Kanga.”

“Go, Flygon!”

“Corviknight, let’s go!”

Y quickly assesses the type matchups in her head. Veevee has the advantage against Flygon but the disadvantage against Corviknight. Kanga’s at a type disadvantage against Corviknight as well, but she has moves that’ll allow her to hit both Pokémon super effectively. That still makes Corviknight the bigger threat.

“Double team Corviknight?” she mutters under her breath.

X shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Support me. See what they can do.”

Y dips her head, pretending to adjust her necktie. “You guys ready?” she calls across the battlefield. Hop gives her a thumbs-up. “Then let’s get this battle started! Veevee, Misty Terrain!”

Veevee closes her eyes and lifts her head. A cloud of pink mist begins to emanate from her body, swirling around her and Kanga’s legs. It quickly spreads across the whole battlefield, but Corviknight and Flygon hover just above the mist.

Hugh scowls. “That was a waste of a move. Misty Terrain won’t affect our Pokémon!”

“Their Pokémon can still benefit from it,” Hop points out. “But let’s not give ’em a reason to! Corviknight, Steel Wing on Sylveon!”

“Flygon, use Rock Slide!” Hugh commands.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” Hop cries, but Flygon is already executing the order.

“Dodge it!” X and Y command simultaneously.

“Corviknight, fall back!” Hop exclaims. Corviknight pulls its head back to stop its charge just before it reaches the torrent of boulders that Flygon is raining down on Kanga and Veevee.

Veevee is nimble enough to dodge most of them, but Kanga isn’t so lucky, taking a decent amount of damage. “Shake it off, Kanga,” X says. “We’re just getting started.”

“What the heck was that, mate?” Hop shouts, glaring at Hugh. “Are you trying to sabotage me!?”

“Sabotage!? I was doing us a favor by attacking both our opponents at once!” Hugh snaps.

“You nearly took Corviknight out with that Rock Slide!”

“I figured you were capable of making sure your Pokemon didn’t get hit by the attack. Which you were. So I don’t see what the big deal is!”

“The big deal is that Corviknight couldn’t attack at all because you decided you wanted to attack both of them at once!”

While they continue arguing, Y glances at X. “Should we, uh, let them finish, or…?”

“Let’s get their attention back here,” X says. “Kanga, use Thunderbolt on Corviknight.”

“Works for me,” Y grins. “Veevee, Moonblast on Flygon!”

Kanga’s body begins to crackle with electricity while Veevee glows with bluish-pink energy. They launch their attacks simultaneously, knocking both Flygon and Corviknight to the ground. That’s finally enough to catch Hugh and Hop’s attention.

“Flygon, are you alright?” Hugh asks. His Pokemon picks itself up and flaps its wings a couple of times to prove that it’s still full of energy. He nods with satisfaction and then levels a glare at Hop. “Look what you’ve done. If you hadn’t started that argument–”

“I wouldn’t have started it if you hadn’t given me a reason to!” Hop shoots back. Then he shakes his head. “Look, we can’t keep arguing like this if we want to win this battle. We’re s’posed to be fighting them , not each other. So let’s each focus on one opponent so we don’t keep getting in each other’s way. Fair?”

“Alright,” Hugh says, turning his intense stare back to X and Y. “I’ll take Kangaskhan, you take Sylveon.”

Hop grins. “I can work with that.”

“Flygon, use Superpower!”

“Corviknight, Steel Wing on Sylveon, let’s go!”

Corviknight and Flygon flap their wings and shoot across the battlefield. They’re both on the opposite side from their intended targets, though, and their trajectories put them directly on a collision course with each other. Fortunately for them, a quick command from Hugh to slightly adjust Flygon’s direction saves them from colliding.

But Y’s not just going to roll over and let them get in a free attack just because they finally figured out that they need to cooperate. “Veevee, Baby-Doll Eyes!” she commands.

Veevee bats her eyes cutely at Corviknight. It slows down a bit but doesn’t stop completely, so it’s still able to land a solid hit. Veevee stumbles back a few paces but remains standing. “Way to hang in there, Veevee! Retaliate with Draining Kiss!”

As Veevee kisses away some of Corviknight’s vitality, Y chances a look over at X and Kanga. Flygon landed a direct hit on Kanga, but now that it’s at close range, she’s grabbed onto its arms to hold it in place.

“Use Outrage!” X orders. Kanga glows with a faint red aura and punches Flygon in the stomach, then flings it away. Y winces.

“Hey! Your opponent’s over here!” Hop calls, waving and grinning cheekily. “Corviknight, keep up the Steel Wings!”

“Dodge it, Veevee!” Y shouts. Veevee does her best to avoid the strikes from Corviknight’s wings, but she’s slowly being pushed into the corner of the battlefield and once she’s there, she’ll have nowhere to go. If only there was some way they could get past Corviknight without giving it time to land a hit…

Flygon and Kanga are still locked in close-quarters combat in the center of the field, and suddenly Y has an idea. “Veevee, use Quick Attack! Aim for Flygon!”

Veevee twists in midair to avoid Corviknight’s wings and lands on the ground in a crouch. It only takes her a moment to pinpoint Flygon’s location. She darts forward. Corviknight can’t move fast enough. Veevee slips under its wings easily, racing towards Flygon. But she realizes at the same time as Y that she won’t be able to attack Flygon without risking hitting Kanga as well, so she stops once she’s gotten a safe distance away from Corviknight.

“Good work, Veevee! Now, give Corviknight a Moonblast!”

Corviknight only has time to turn around before Veevee’s Moonblast is hitting it head-on. But when the dust settles, it shakes its head, barely fazed by the attack. “Nice move,” Hop says to Y. “But it’ll take a lot more than that to defeat a Pokemon with a type advantage!”

“Don’t get too confident! We’re just getting started!” Y replies with a smirk.

“ What!? ”

Hugh’s indignant cry draws Y’s attention back to Flygon and Kanga. Kanga is a little hunched over and breathing heavily, but she still looks much better off than Flygon; it’s lying on the ground, fainted.

“How could Outrage have done that much damage!? Dragon-type moves have their power halved on Misty Terrain!” Hugh exclaims.

“Yes, but Misty Terrain only affects Pokémon that are on the ground,” X says. “Since Flygon has Levitate, it’s not protected by the mist. Dragon-type moves used on it don’t have their power reduced, while Dragon-type moves used by it do – as long as the Pokémon it’s attacking is grounded, like Kanga.”

“ That’s how Misty Terrain works?” Hugh folds his arms, a contemplative look on his face. “But the other terrains boost the power of the user’s moves…”

“Yeah, so Misty Terrain protects Pokémon on the field instead of powering them up,” Hop says. “You really didn’t know that, mate? What happened to that whole ‘graduating at the top of your class’ thing that you were bragging about earlier?”

“Terrain was just being introduced to battles when I was in school,” Hugh says defensively. “They didn’t teach us about it. I had to learn about it from my own research and battles.”

“Well, there’s the trick. You shouldn’t learn just from the battles that you take part in. You can learn a lot by watching other people battle, too. Keep that up, and you’ll be practically unbeatable!” Hop grins.

Hugh looks at Hop for a moment as if studying him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. He returns Flygon and sticks his hands in his pockets. “You’re on your own now. Don’t screw this up.”

“Right…no pressure,” Hop says with a nervous chuckle. He closes his eyes and slaps his hands on his cheeks twice before opening them, a new determination blazing in his eyes. “Let’s do this, Corviknight!”

Corviknight spreads its wings and raises its head high, letting out a shrill cry. Sunlight glints off its metal feathers. Its large wingspan makes it look twice as big as normal – a massive, menacing black figure that towers over Y even though she’s standing several feet away. It flaps its wings to take off, blowing a gust of air strong enough to dislodge the hair tucked behind Y’s ears. Even injured, Corviknight exudes a dominating aura. They can’t let their guard down if they want to defeat it.

As Corviknight moves back to Hop’s side of the battlefield, Y glances over at X. “Looks like we’re gonna get to double team Corviknight after all,” she says with a grin.

“Looks like it,” he agrees.

“Veevee, Draining Kiss!”

“Kanga, Mega Punch!”

As the two Pokemon charge at Corviknight together, Hop commands, “Corviknight, fly as low to the ground as possible and meet them with Steel Wing!”

Corviknight flaps its wings, gaining some height, and then dives down to the ground. It pulls out of the dive just before it hits the ground, letting its momentum propel it towards Kanga and Veevee.

“Veevee, jump over it!” Y shouts.

Veevee leaps into the air just before Corviknight reaches her so it passes right underneath her. Kanga, on the other hand, is far less agile. Corviknight’s wing slams into Kanga’s legs, stopping their motion while her upper body continues to move forward. She slams into the ground while Corviknight slows to a halt in front of X and Y, completely unscathed.

“Quick, before it gets up – Drill Peck on Kangaskhan!” Hop orders.

Corviknight turns around and flies at Kanga again, this time tucking its wings close to its body and rotating itself like a drill. Kanga is struggling to her feet, but she’s not going to have time to get up and move out of Corviknight’s way.

“Now, Veevee, Quick Attack!”

Veevee darts at Corviknight and rams into it. She’s thrown to the ground by the rotation of Corviknight’s body, but the force is enough to knock Corviknight off course. Instead of hitting Kanga, Corviknight crashes into the ground. Meanwhile, Kanga gets to her feet, ready to attack.

“Let’s finish this off,” X says.

“Sounds good to me!”

“Thunderbolt!”

“Moonblast!”

Corviknight barely has time to pick itself up off the ground before it’s being hit by the combined force of Kanga and Veevee’s attacks. It collapses, wings splayed out, unmoving.

“Looks like Corviknight can’t battle anymore,” Y says. “Which means…me and X win!” She turns to X, and they share a quick kiss. “Lovely battling with you, as always.”

“Same to you,” he says, smiling softly. “You fought well.”

She and X return their Pokémon and jog to the other side of the field, where Hop has returned his Corviknight and stands facing Hugh.

Hop lowers his head. “I’m sorry. You were counting on Corviknight and I to win the battle, and we couldn’t do it. It’s my fault we lost…”

Hugh sighs. “You wouldn’t have been in that situation if Flygon hadn’t gotten knocked out first. I should’ve been stronger.”

“No,” X interrupts. “You’re missing the root of the problem. The reason you lost isn’t because either of you were too weak – it’s obvious you’re both skilled Trainers. But you weren’t working as a team, and teamwork is crucial to winning a Multi Battle.”

Hop and Hugh stare at X and then look at each other. Hop sighs and folds his hands behind his head. “You’re right about that, mate. We weren’t working together at all. I was so focused on proving my own strength that I didn’t think about anything other than my Pokémon.”

“I did the same thing,” Hugh admits. He pulls his hands out of his pockets and glances at Hop. “You did pretty well taking on both of them by yourself, though. Having Corviknight fly close to the ground like that to trip them up was clever.”

“You think?” Hop grins, his cheeks tinged a faint pink. “Uh, I can’t really take credit for it. It’s a trick I picked up from my bro.”

Hugh turns to face Hop fully now, an inquisitive look on his face. “You have a brother? Older or younger?”

“Older,” Hop says with a chuckle. “By quite a bit.”

“Oh. I’ve got a younger sister,” Hugh says by way of explanation. “She’s a Trainer, too, but…she’s never had much interest in battling.”

“Really? I can’t imagine what that’s like. I think I inherited my love of battling from my brother,” Hop says, grinning widely.

“Must be nice, having a sibling who actually wants to battle with you.”

“Oh, I wish. By the time I became a Trainer, Lee was already leagues better than me, and he was hardly ever around anyways…”

The two boys head to the stairs, chatting about their siblings like old friends catching up after a long time. Hop pauses to wave goodbye and thank them for the battle. Then the pair head downstairs together, leaving X and Y alone on the roof.

X picks up the aprons off the ground and hands Y hers. She takes it with a smile and ties it back around her waist. Of all the things she loves about running the battle café, this has to be her favorite – getting to bring other Trainers closer together.

Note: This is a work of fiction. The opinions on the cuteness of certain rival characters expressed in this fic are wholly Y’s and do not reflect the views of the creator.

[booksarelife-stuff]

The Story of Us- Chapter 2

Jily (James Potter/ Lily Evans), minor wolfstar

Word Count: 

Modern Muggle AU. When Lily Evans meets the man across the hall due to a fire alarm, she has no idea that a new chapter of her life has begun. Featuring a librarian Lily and sports journalist James.

Masterlist     Read on AO3  Chapter 3

Chapter 2- and the sparks fly...

Lily had found her love of libraries in secondary school. She remembers one day, specifically that started it all. 

Petunia, Lily’s tight-lipped older sister, had gotten all her friends to make fun of her in front of everyone. Lily didn’t remember what it was that day that the gaggle of girls had decided to torment Lily on. It could have been just a simple “freak” thrown her way in the hallway. 

What Lily does remember though, is finding solace in the library. She remembers running in there, looking for a private place to cry. She had sat in the back, near the reference section that was barely touched since the age of the internet. She started doing her homework there and more importantly started realizing that escaping into books was easier when she was surrounded by them. 

The library Lily now called home was an old building, untouched by the modern buildings surrounding it. It was made of stone and when you walked in, you were greeted by the musky scent of old books. 

This library had also brought more than a safe place in her adult life, but friends as well. Remus Lupin was the overseer of the adult non-fiction and reference section. Lily was convinced that man was Google. She could ask him anything about anything he’d probably have an answer. Then there was the children’s librarian from downstairs, Marlene McKinnon. Marlene was vibrant and offered great critiques of all the new teen show adaptations of young adult novels. 

Lily had finally found a home for herself. 

Lily was sitting at the circulation desk, waiting for patrons. Remus was running a workshop for homeless members of the community to get jobs and they had had a nice turn out. Lily had spent all night packing lunches for them and was yawning every five seconds. 

She was tired and she didn’t notice the man who stepped up to the desk. 

“Hey Lily,” a deep voice said. Lily’s throat filled with bile. 

She looked up to see Severus Snape, a barista from across the street at the Starbucks. Also, her sort-of-ex. 

Lily looked up and gave her customer service a smile. 

“Hello Severus,” she said. “Did you find everything you needed?” 

“Yes, I did,” he drawled. 

“Great,” she said. She reached out for his book and library card. She tried not to make a face at the book he was checking out, something about government conspiracies, and scanned his card. Lily should have been surprised that he was even here at all, especially since Lily had to deal with a lot of talks that revolved around the internet making libraries useless from him. But he showed up, like clockwork. 

“You have a late fee,” she said. “It’s only a pound.” 

Lily checked out his book while he pulled out his wallet. She marked the fee as paid as he slid the pound over the desk. Lily handed him his card and book back. 

“Due in two weeks. Have a great day,” she said, smiling. 

“I was wondering if we could talk for a second,” he asked. Lily looked up into his deep brown eyes. She really didn’t want to, but she couldn’t think of an excuse, as there weren't any other patrons. 

“About what, Severus?” she asked. 

“Have you changed your mind yet?” he asked. 

Lily mentally counted down from five in her head, trying to bite back the anger that flared inside of her. That was the thing with Severus. To him, he never did anything wrong and it was Lily that was holding the relationship back.

“No, afraid not,” she said, her tone coming out sharp. Severus’s nostrils flared a bit. 

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. 

“Is it?” she quipped. 

His eyes flashed but the door swung open, stopping whatever he was about to say. Lily’s flickered to the new patron but did a double-take. 

Standing there was James, Lily’s neighbor. He was wearing a white button up with a red tie and black slacks. The sleeves were rolled up, showing his arms again and the tie hung loosely from his neck. He had a black messenger bag hanging from his shoulder. 

He gave Lily a small and a wave. He stood behind Severus, waiting in line. Severus looked pissed off as Lily’s eyes turned back to him. 

“Is that all you need, sir?” Lily asked. 

“Yes,” Severus spat. He grabbed his book and turned sharply. He walked out of the door. 

Lily smiled widely as James stepped up to the counter. 

“Hey neighbor,” James said, running a hand through his already messy hair. 

“Hey. What brings you to the library?” she asked.

“I heard that books contain knowledge and I need a specific kind,” he said. “And a library card.”

“Let’s get you a card first,” she said. 

She learned James’s full name was James Fleamont Potter. She tried not to make a face at his middle name but James responded with a quick “yeah I know.” She learned his birthday was March 27 and that she was older than him by a few months. 

She handed him his card and a little flyer that had instructions about their app that would let him browse their online collection and place holds on books they had on the shelves. 

“So, what specific knowledge would you be needing today?” she asked. 

“Ah well, remember the professional bowling team I mentioned?” 

“The Cannons?”

“That would be it,” he said. “I need books on bowling. I know most of the rules of football and rugby, but I seem to be lacking some expertise on the intricacies of bowling.”

Lily laughed and started typing in their system. 

“And you couldn’t Google that?” 

James did a dramatic gasp that made Lily look up at him. 

“Did a librarian just say I should Google something? That’s a sort of sacrilege,” James said, his hazel eyes wide with fake horror. 

Lily laughed and turned back to her computer screen. She told him the number of the Dewey he could use to find books on bowling and he blinked at her. 

“Let me guess,” she said. “Unfamiliar with the system?”

“Yeah. And this library,” he said. 

Lily motioned for him to follow her. If Remus was available, he’d be able to go directly to the space on the shelf that contained books about bowling. It took Lily a minute to find them. She left James to browse and went back to the desk to find Marlene sitting at Lily’s portion of the desk.

“Hey Lil,” she said, stopping her spinning in her chair. 

“Hey Marls,” she said. 

“I’m on break,” she said, tossing her thick blonde hair over her shoulder. “I also have a story.”

“Do tell,” Lily said, taking her seat at the computer. 

“A girl came in with her mother looking for a book,” she began, her blues eyes turning animated. “And I would have guess she was looking for the latest John Green or something, but this girl walks up to the desk and asks point-blank ‘Do you have Gone Girl?’”

Marlene took a dramatic inhale while Lily started smiling. 

“She had to be no older than thirteen! And she wanted ‘Gone Girl!’” she exclaimed. 

“Please tell me you didn’t let her check out ‘Gone Girl’?” Lily asked. 

“Well, we aren’t in the business of judging are we?” Marlene said. “Our physical copy is checked out but I showed her how she could read it through our app.”

Lily laughed. 

“Isn’t that book the one where the wife fakes her death?” James asked. Lily spun around to see James leaning against the counter, two books sitting in front of him. 

“It is,” Marlene answered. She got up and stood next to Lily at the circulation desk. “Have you read it?”

Lily rolled her eyes as she scanned James’s card. Marlene would flirt with anything that moved, even though she had a lovely girlfriend waiting at home for her. 

“I haven’t but my brother made me watch the movie,” James replied. “I really enjoyed it.”

Marlene hummed as Lily checked out the books to James. He had gotten two books, one about the theory of bowling, which Lily didn’t think was a thing, and one of different techniques and rules. 

“Here you are,” Lily said, sliding the books back. “Please take a bookmark or two!”

“Yes please,” Marlene said. “Please don’t dog ear the pages.”

“Will do,” James said, picking up a colorful bookmark. “See you around, Lily.”

He gave her a small before turning away and walking out the door. Once he was gone, Marlene lightly hit Lily’s arm. 

“He was totally flirting with you!”

“He was not,” Lily said, though she hadn’t really thought about it to determine if he was or not. 

“‘See you around, Lily,’” Marlene quoted, her eyebrows high on her forehead. 

“He’s my neighbor.”

Marlene widened her eyes even more. 

“Since when did you get a hot neighbor? What about the old man?”

“James moved in a few weeks ago,” Lily replied. “He was the guy who brought his cat out during the fire alarm.”

Marlene started laughing. Lily had mentioned him when she saw Remus and Marlene the next day, but just focused on the cat. She didn’t tell them about their conversation. 

“Well,” Marlene said. “I need to go back. But we aren’t dropping this James conversation.”

“There really isn’t much to be said,” Lily said as Marlene started towards the stairs. She turned before she headed down giving Lily a look. 

“Then there needs to be,” she said. “He is ten steps up from Severus and I think you need to jump on that quickly.”

~~~

Lily waved at the security officer at the desk as she passed. Moody was scary looking fellow, but once Lily brought him sweets, he softened up to her. He always guarded her packages. 

She quickly got her mail and got in the elevator with a nice old woman from the third floor. The ride was silent and once Lily made it to her apartment she collapsed on her couch, throwing her bag on the floor and the mail on her coffee table. The afternoon had gotten busy for her, as the after work crowd had come in around five. Not that she was going to complain that so many people were still using the library. 

She debated ordering take-out, not feeling up to cooking but she couldn’t decide on what sounded best. She sat up and picked up her mail. It was mostly junk but she found a handwritten letter. She looked quickly at the name and realized it wasn’t hers, but was addressed to James from a Euphemia Potter. 

Lily sighed and slipped her flats back on. She didn’t know if James was home yet, but she figured she’d at least try before she forgot. She left her door open as she made her strides to his apartment door and knocked three times. 

“One sec!” she heard James call. She waited as she heard the thump of his footsteps get closer to the door. 

He opened it, smiling. He had already changed out of his work clothes and was wearing a shirt that was old and faded and his sweatpants. 

“Lily,” he said. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

Lily held out the piece of mail, returning his smile.

“This was in my box,” she said. He looked down at the letter as he took it from her, his glasses low on his nose. 

“Oh bugger,” he said. “Sorry about that. My mum seems to have put the wrong number. I’ll call and let her know she doesn’t do it again.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “I figured you would want a handwritten letter sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. Mum’s a bit old fashioned,” James said, smiling. He leaned against the doorframe, his hazel eyes looking directly at Lily.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” Lily said, turning away. 

“Wait!” James said, causing Lily to turn back. “I was just about to start Outlander.”

“Wait, really?” she asked. She couldn’t believe that he was going to sit down and watch the show because she mentioned it to him. 

“Yeah,’ James said, running a hand through his hair. “I was just about to order some curry, too. Wanna join?”

Lily blinked and James' face quickly fell. He started babbling. 

“Not like a date or anything!” he started. “You’re just the first person I’ve really talked to since moving here and I think you’d be a, a great friend—”

“I’d love to, James,” she said, talking over his babbling. James smiled brightly. 

She told him the best curry place that delivered in town and her order. She wanted to change into something more comfortable before they started so she ran back to her apartment. 

Normally, Lily would be reserved about these kind of things, but James didn’t seem to be a threat. He had been nice enough and Marlene had always said she needed to put herself out there more. If that included eating curry while watching Outlander, she was more than happy to oblige. 

She put on some leggings and an oversized jumper. She quickly put her hair up. She grabbed her phone and keys. She was almost out the door when she remembered a tub of ice cream she had in the freezer. She ran back and grabbed it, hoping James was a fan of brownie batter. 

When she knocked, James let her in. 

“Oh, ice cream?” he asked. 

“Yep. Like brownie batter?” she asked. His eyes lit up. 

“Yes! My favorite,” he said. “Besides mint chocolate chip.”

Lily made a face. 

“Mint chocolate chip taste like bad tooth paste,” she said. 

James let out an offended noise as he took the ice cream from her and walked towards the fridge. 

“It does not!”

Lily smiled and looked around James' apartment. He had a decent sized television and a large gray sectional that looked soft. Buttercream was napping on the top of the couch, his tail flicking back and forth. 

It wasn’t really decorated, Lily noted. He had a few pictures up but the walls were bare. Lily noticed some books on his entertainment center and went and looked at them. They were mostly about sports, rules and techniques, and whatnot. Lily also noticed the books he checked out earlier on his coffee table, one of them with a bookmark already in it. 

“So,” James began entering the living room. “How much do you think I’m going to like the show?”

Lily hummed for a second. 

“I think you’ll either get really into it or you’ll be indifferent,” she said. “I don’t know you well enough to give a better judgement. I don’t think you’ll hate it though.”

“Fair enough,” he said, petting Buttercream. “I looked it up and it sounds quite interesting.”

“Are you a big fan of period pieces?” Lily asked. James glanced up at her with a smile. 

“Don’t tell my brother this,” he started. “If you ever meet him. But yes, I am.”

Lily smiled. 

“What’s your favorite?” she asked. She watched as he ran a hand through his hair. 

“My mum made me watch Pride and Prejudice so many times, I can recite the movie line by line,” he said. 

Lily felt unbridled glee. That was her favorite movie, hands down. She knew it wasn’t accurate to the book but the tension between the characters in the movie drew Lily in more than anything. 

“The 2005 movie?” she asked, her excitement showing. 

“Yep. We did watch the BBC version quite a few times though,” James said. “I love Colin Firth, but there’s just something about the movie.”

They talked excitedly about the movie, comparing the two adaptations when their food arrived. Once they had settled on the couch, take-out containers and plastic forks in hand, James went to Netflix and started Outlander. 

[kiintsugi]

Vagrant's Rhapsody Excerpt #002

“You can't change the wind but you can set your sails.”   ― Billie Joe Armstrong

“Sometimes the world decides it doesn’t need you. Sometimes you decide you don’t need the world. But, you... fuck, I need you.”

+

Drink because you’ve got nothing better to do than wallow in self-pity on a Saturday night. Drink because you’re letting the straights play jump rope with your nerves. Fling your glass across the bar so you have to watch the whiskey run down your distorted, cracked reflection.  

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

+

Train hopper modern au. aka the road trip quarter-life crisis au no one asked for but i’m writing anyway

Spotify insp. playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3nIWt2B8z1kNTovOlKI9jR?si=lqCCZXmPTsKZXPkJW0kOKg

EXCERPT:

There were three things that Clarke loved about Bellamy Blake

His love of world history which allowed for enough overlap with her love art that he was actually someone she could talk to about post renaissance painters and have a fulfilling conversation with. 

He was literally the kindest human on the face of the earth.  

His arms. They were great.  

She remembered the third thing as he offered her his elbow to walk her into the little diner. Which, conclusion: Bellamy was without a doubt, the kindest human of all time.

They found a table toward the back, near the jukebox that only ever played one song. It had been that way for as long as Clarke could remember and would likely stay that way until it stopped working all together. Not that it mattered. It didn’t bother the regulars – mostly grumpy older men and industrial, blue collar workers – and it didn’t bother the employees either. The only people who ever complained was the rare newcomer who always thought it necessary to blame the waitress for their own piss poor taste in music.

Mary Jane’s Last Dance played when Clarke was young and her father would take her out to watch the sunrise in the Beacon parking lot at four something in the morning. It played when Clarke was sixteen and bussing tables and sneaking links of sausage because she had already been given two formal warnings about sneaking bacon and when she was sliding ice down Octavia’s shirt on late weekend nights to keep her awake for their three graveyard regulars. It didn’t matter what she was doing or who she was or who ahead wanted to be one day; Tom Petty was always there. For Hungover Clarke, however, she could really do without the residual emotions of her past right about now.

“Is it even possible to hate Tom Petty?” Bellamy mused with a nostalgic twinkle as he slid into a booth. She knew he meant well, he always meant well. But Clarke still had to bite her tongue and actively stop herself from being a certifiable grump towards one of the only people she could stand to be around.

She waved a hand with dismissive intent and peered across the diner. It was a small joint, cracked and aged in this timeless charm sort of way with a dozen booths, six on either side of the door, and a row of diner bar top seats that always had some industrial worker with sunken eyes hunched over endless coffee and a plate of grease drenched potatoes.

There were two waitresses. The first was and older woman who had been with diner since Clarke was young named Bea. The other was younger, even more than Clarke and unlike Bea who had something a rapport with the regulars, was having hard time knowing when to approach customers and when to leave them the fuck alone.  

“Charlotte. What the fuck? We got customers!” Murphy’s head peaked out from the window behind the counter, his expression wrinkled with frustration.  

“I got it,” Bea interjected. “She’s one of my girls.”

Murphy turned towards them, eyes lighting up when he realized the customers in question were her and Bellamy. “You,” he declared, reaching an arm out of the window to point his spatula at them. “Bout time.”

Bellamy smiled. “We’re here, now.”

Ever chivalrous Bellamy Blake, acting as if it were his fault Clarke hadn’t bothered to stop by. Of course, Bea knew better than to believe it.  

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked, pushing her weight onto one hip as she set down two mugs coffee.  

Clarke reached for the obviously larger of the two mugs. “Europe.”

“That was six months ago,” Bea said.  

“New York?”

“Try again, girlie.”

Clarke shrugged. She really didn’t have an answer; at least, she didn’t have one that she was willing to admit.  

“Well, you’re here now.” Bea put her hands on her hips and sighed. “That’s what matters. Just in time for the wedding, too. Oh,” she breathed. “I never did expect to say that about Octavia.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, looking out the window. “Me either.”

The Beacon was a tiny building that built its success through its service to blue collar railway workers and, while the railroad workforce was nothing compared to what used to be as a in their small midwestern town, the trainyard still lingered across the window pane like a distance relic and – somehow – added to the charm. Now days, hardly anyone who worked on the railway came into the diner, but Clarke always wondered what the place looked like when it first opened. Train tales had to be better the complaints of long sleep-deprived truck drivers and stoned teenagers who poured chocolate milk on their hash browns.  

The bells over the door gave an off-key chime and Clarke could hear the trudging boots of new customers filing in through the door.  

“Charlotte,” Murphy’s voice boomed. “You’re up!”

Bellamy chuckled across the table and Clarke whipped her attention back to the diner as he said, “I haven't heard Murphy this frustrated since Clarke and Octavia first left.”

Bea looked over her shoulder to the table of new arrivals where the young waitress seemed to be stumbling through her job. “It’s her first job,” she said. “She’ll get better. You and O weren’t much better when you started either. Besides, that lot’s an easy ticket. She’ll be fine.”

The table consisted of four people, each as begrimed as the last. They were covered in something black and greasy, with stringy unwashed hair and dirt ridden, sweat soaked clothes. One of them was wiping their hands clean, leaving a pile of dirty napkins in the center of the table before collecting them all and trading the used napkins to the waitress for coffee.

“They’re filthy,” Bellamy noted.

“They’re harmless,” Bea said. “So, your orders still the same? Southwest Omelet and a Beacon Traditional?”

They both nodded and Bea sauntered away to shout the orders at Murphy through the kitchen window.

“Can you believe Murphy still works here?” Bellamy asked, leaning over the table. “Eight years at the same diner.”

Clarke frowned. “Bea’s been here longer.”

“Yeah, but that’s Bea. This place is nothing without her.”

Clarke shrugged. As much as she loved Bellamy, it was hard to keep a conversation with him. It was hard to keep a conversation with anyone these days.

They fell into a sort of uncomfortable silence as Bellamy sipped at his coffee and hummed the repeating tune of the Jukebox’s only song while Clarke stared absentmindedly across the diner towards the table of four. She watched the young waitress, Charlotte, bring out four piled plates of diner classics, refill coffee mugs on at least four separate occasions and chat idly with the group about things Clarke couldn’t quite make out.

“Fuckin’ frozen hell, Princess. You gonna say hi to me, or what?”

Clarke snapped back to the table. There were two steaming plates of food in front of them, Bellamy’s half consumed and Clarke’s completely untouched and her coffee had gone cold. She looked at the plate, frowning before looking up to Murphy who had stolen a seat next to Bellamy. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she began to pick at her food. “Long night.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet,” Murphy said. He pushed back his hair and leaned one elbow on the table. “I heard you go real hard these days.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow as she shoved a fork full of food into her mouth.  

“Hey, man, I hear what I hear,” he said with an innocent shrug. “Not like we’ve talked since you got back to set the story straight.”

“There’s nothing to set straight,” Clarke said.  

Murphy gripped his chest with gasp. “A woman after my own heart. No fucks and an iron liver.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy interjected. “Enough.”

“I’ll take you on on that. If you can keep up.”

Murphy balked with laughter. “Come on, princess. You really think your debauchery can keep up with me? I’ve been running the garbage kid scene since you were still a star student.”

Clarke raised her coffee mug with a smug grin. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

[jisungsmochi]

the diner boy - hrj

diner boy renjun + new diner girl reader

slight enemies to lovers ! 

a/n: this is the first instalment of my nct dream job au (?) basically each member will be the worker / the reader will be the worker. it’s a fun idea i’ve had but never actually bothered writing so i hope you all can enjoy it hehe! 

word count: 2.8k

//

it was your first day of your new waitressing job at your local diner. it was your very first job, and to say you were nervous was a complete understatement. you always strived to be better than what you could usually handle. thus, causing you to overthink and often dramatise certain situations.

as you tied the apron behind your back, you turned to meet a familiar face.

‘fancy seeing you here, stalking me now?’ the voice teased, as the boy who owned it, leant against the counter, wearing the same apron.

‘don’t get any ideas, it’s my first day’ you sighed. 

renjun had always teased you, since your first day at the school. you were a new kid at the start of the year, and found it pretty easy to make friends. renjun, however, disliked how all of his friends were practically pining for your attention. he didn’t see why you were any special from any other new student so instead, to stray away from the constant praise you received from his friends. he decided to not be so nice to you. always teasing if you were late, if you had something in your hair, softly barging past you in the halls.

you were completely aware of his disliking towards you but you tried to not let it get to you. so when you saw that he happened to be working in the same diner, you were just about to quit right then and there.

‘well since it’s your first day, i’ll be sure to make things very difficult for you’ he smirked, watching as your eyes widened.

‘what do you mean?’ you struck back, folding your arms over eachother.

‘i’m the assistant manager so, whatever i say, you do’ renjun had this look in his eyes that you could only describe was mischievous. you were in for one wild ride.

your first shift consisted of you tripping multiple times and spilling plenty of both hot and cold beverages on the floor. then having to mop the floor as well as bus down each table on your own. it was clear that the diner was understaffed, yet renjun didn’t bother to help you at all. you huffed in exhaustion as you finished wiping down your last table for the day. renjun watched as you slowly wiped the sweat from your forehead before glaring at him and making your way to the break room. he wanted to follow you, but your slight slam to the door signalled that wouldn’t be the best idea.

he felt slightly guilty that he didn’t help you at all. but he wanted to stick his ground. he couldn’t give in so easily.

the next shift, you came in feeling exhausted from your first one, but still determined to do your job. renjun stopped you before you entered the back room of the diner.

‘nice work yesterday’ he taunted, blocking you from entering.

‘would have been nice if you decided to help but clearly being nice isn’t something you can do’ you groaned, trying to push past him, grabbing for you apron.

‘yeah yeah, try not to spill any drinks today okay’ he let you past as you gave him another scowl,

‘dickhead’ you muttered under your breath but renjun still heard. a part of him felt hurt by your words.

this shift was slightly better than the first. you were still on edge but it wasn’t completely noticeable by the patrons. you often glanced at renjun, who, for the first time it seemed, was serving customers. he had a surprisingly friendly smile and often laughed along with whatever banter the customers were throwing at him. he made it look so easy. he caught you glancing, giving you a smile as you quickly looked away and continued wiping down tables.

it was getting dark as you and renjun closed up the diner. you made sure everything was in its place before grabbing your jacket and backpack. renjun wanted to stop you before you left, to talk. about anything. but he didn’t know if you would do the same.

‘oh crap’ you groaned, watching as rain began to fall.

‘problem?’ renjun walked up next to you, slightly startling you.

‘uh yeah i caught the bus here and i don’t have an umbrella, i’m gonna be soaked’ you sighed, going through your backpack for any type of protection from the rain. renjun thought to himself for a moment, unsure of what to say to you.

‘i can drive you home’ he suddenly offered, causing you to halt your actions and look up at him. you weren’t sure if he was serious, but he was looking right back at you. renjun hates you, or so you thought. why would he offer to take you home?

‘i’m offering one last time, or else you can go get soaked’ he tapped his foot on the tiles. there’s the renjun you know.

‘yeah okay, thanks for offering’ you mutter, placing your phone into your bag and following him to his car. you watched as he pushed back some of his hair that was dampened from the rain. he looked quite stunning in your eyes.

‘enough staring, don’t get my car seats wet’ he yelled at you over the rain. you rolled your eyes, laying down your spare apron on the seat before getting into the car.

‘oh i wasn’t being serious’ he chuckled for what seemed like the first time you had witnessed.

‘just drive’ you retorted, running your fingers through your damp hair. renjun looked over at you, how you looked so cosy in your large winter jacket. he shook his head to rid of this thoughts before starting the car and following your directions home.

not much was said before the occasional ‘left here’ ‘right there’ but you both enjoyed the company, even if you both couldn’t admit it.

as he pulled up to your driveway, you began collecting your things.

‘thanks for the ride, i appreciate it. see you tomorrow’ you turned to him.

‘it’s fine, you just owe me one day’ he smirked as you rolled your eyes.

‘can’t you just take my gratitude?’

‘ehh where’s the fun in that?’ he was impossible.

‘i’m gonna leave now, bye’ you shut his door, practically bolting to your front door. you still heard his engine running, turning back to see him waiting for you to enter your home. you gave him a wave to signal you were fine, as he left your driveway.

renjun was an interesting guy. definitely one of a kind.

after a few weeks of working at the diner, you had began to get a hang of things. you weren’t totally perfect just yet, but you were well on your way. it became a thing for renjun to drop you home when it got too dark or the weather was bad. you didn’t mind, he began to refrain from making his usual comments during the car rides, and always made sure you entered your house before leaving. you wouldn’t talk as much during your shifts, due to the constant hustle and bustle of the job. but the occasional smiles and waves, sufficed for you both.

one day you were both working, a group of teenagers entered, interrupting the prior calm and collected atmosphere. you and renjun both sighed and looked at eachother.

‘you gonna handle them?’ he stood next to you behind the counter.

‘may as well, you finish up with table 10’ you told him as he nodded before giving you a small thumbs up and attending to his table. you took a deep breath before approaching the group and asking if they were ready to order.

luckily enough for you, that process when smoothly, despite their constant bickering over eachother.

as you were serving them their drinks, you suddenly tripped over one of their feet, causing you to spill the contents of the coca cola on the nearest patron. you instantly fell to the ground, some of the drink staining your white shirt. the group was enraged by the clumsiness, many of them just ranting to eachother, except for one boy. he stood up and began shouting at you, complaining about your ‘poor service’. this caught renjun’s attention as well as many of the other tables. he immediately rushed over to you, helping you up, before facing the boy.

‘look i understand that she made a mistake but that is no way to talk to a woman’ renjun gritted through his teeth, trying to remain using his customer service voice.

‘i don’t need to listen to you, i’d like to speak to the manager’ the boy chuckled at renjun’s efforts to ease the situation.

‘well our manager isn’t in today, but you can talk to the assistant manager, if you wish’ renjun retorted, you watched the confrontation intently.

the boy just nodded, renjun gave him a smirk before stating,

‘well continue with your complaint, you’re talking to the assistant manager’

the boy’s face dropped, as well as his friends. you slightly giggled to yourself as the group decided to up and leave the diner. renjun turned back to you,

‘are you alright?’ for the first time, he properly expressed his concern for you.

‘uh yeah, i’m okay, i’ll go get a mop to clean this mess, i’m so sorry’ you apologise to him, before he stopped you by grabbing your forearm.

‘no, just go and clean yourself up, i’ll get someone else to clean this mess. you can have the rest of the day off’ he gave you a softened smile, in which you returned.

‘thank you so much’ you exclaimed before heading to the back room.

he was your saviour that day.

renjun was late on a particular day, which had you worried. he was usually always here before you were.

‘hey, johnny, where’s renjun?’ you question, wiping down some of the washed dishes.

‘he’s taking a day off, something about preparing for an important family dinner’ johnny shrugged, observing your concerned look.

‘you wanna see him don’t ya?’ johnny teased, pushing his shoulder against yours.

‘what? no! that’s ridiculous’ you mumble the last part, was it really so ridiculous?

‘oh come on, you’ve been glued to him at work lately, it’s cute’ johnny just kept going on, which made you silent. maybe he really was telling the truth.

‘anyways, renjun forgot his payslip along with his travel card here, after your shift can you take it to his house? i’m working over time’ johnny handed you renjun’s belongings, not waiting for you to answer before leaving the kitchen. you stared at the items in your hand before shaking your head and placing them into your backpack. you said goodbye to johnny before exiting the diner and getting into your car to renjun’s house.

you hesitated before ringing the doorbell, remembering that johnny had said that he has an important family dinner.

maybe you could come by tomorrow, you thought. but it was too late as your hand had already pressed the doorbell. you heard some shuffling before the door swung open, revealing a neatly put together, renjun.

‘oh hi y/n, what are you doing here?’ he questioned. you stood silently for a moment before answering,

‘you forgot your travel card and payslip, i just came to drop them by’ you smiled as you handed him the items. he thanked you softly before someone else approached the door.

‘renjun sweetie who is at the door?’ a woman, who assumed was his mother, spoke from behind him.

‘uh a girl from work’ renjun responded. you kind of felt deflated after his response, you were just a coworker to him? not even a friend?

the woman’s face came into view, greeting you with a large smile, resembling much of renjun’s.

‘oh hello! renjun doesn’t really talk much about his work, it’s always like some kind of secret!’ his mother jokes and renjun gives her a playful glare. you stand awkwardly, laughing along.

‘have you eaten yet? we are just about to have dinner, i can pull up a chair for you!’ she persisted, as renjun tried to stop his mother from pulling you inside the house.

‘mum, y/n probably is really busy and has to go home’ renjun tried to argue as you were getting dragged by his mother,

‘actually i didn’t have any plans’ you shrug as his mother led you to a seat at the table. the rest of his family greeted you, including his grandparents and older sister. you greeted them kindly, trying your best not to stick out like a sore thumb. renjun just shook his head before sitting next to you.

dinner conversation didn’t seem like a problem for this family. everyone had something to talk about, something you weren’t used to. renjun chuckled along with all of his family’s jokes and stories, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

maybe he just looked so glorious in this moment, you just couldn’t stop.

‘so y/n! are you good friends with our dear renjun?’ his sister began teasing, as his parents and grandparents eyes fell onto the both of you.

‘um i mean, i guess so! we’ve been working together for a few months now, he’s pretty much taught me all i know’ you compliment and renjun just smiles without saying a word.

‘that’s our boy, so helpful and kind’ his grandpa exclaimed as the rest of the family laughed along. you couldn’t help but have this feeling in your stomach, a feeling you felt when you were truly happy.

dinner ended on a light note, everyone dispersing to do their own things. as a guest, you offered to help with the dishes but renjun’s mother declined your offer, only to pack you dessert for when you went home. you held the tupperware box in your hands, making your way to the front door, after bidding goodbye to everyone before renjun stops you. he leads you out to the front of his house, asking you to sit with him on the steps.

‘what’s up?’ you smiled, clinging onto your sweater sleeves due to the soft breeze.

‘i’m glad you decided to stay, even though my mother kinda forced you’ renjun started as you laughed.

‘it’s been a while since i’ve brought a friend to my house, and i’m glad that it was you. you got along with them pretty well’ he looked down at his feet.

‘it’s just my charm! but you weren’t such a fan of me when we first met’ you decided to poke at him.

‘yeah, i know, and i’m sorry. you were just so bright and optimistic and all my friends were drawn to you. i just didn’t understand why, but um, now i think i know’ he looked over at you, palms sweaty as he rubbed them against his jeans.

you gave him a small smile, scooting closer to him so your sides were against each other.

‘can i tell you something?’ you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder, as you felt his posture stiffen.

‘yeah sure’ he replied, waiting for you to speak, nervously playing with his fingers.

‘i kinda have a crush on you’ you admitted, not looking at him. you felt his hand pull your head off his shoulder. you looked at him, with uncertainty.

he reciprocated the same look, nibbling at the side of his cheek before saying,

‘i kinda have a crush on you too. i just didn’t know how to say it’ he admitted. both of your faces lit up with immense joy. you pulled him close to you, wrapping your arms around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder.

‘i’m so glad’ you mumble as he softly rubs your back.

you both pull away, smiling at eachother like complete dorks.

‘i can’t wait to see what happens next’ he grins as he leads you to your car,

‘same here, i’ll see you tomorrow’ you quickly press a soft peck to his cheek, watching as his blush covered his entire face.

‘oh and by the way, don’t tell johnny just yet, we can’t let his ego be bigger than his head!’ you added as renjun just shook his head and nodded,

‘you got it, get home safely’ renjun waves as you enter your car and begin to drive off.

he watches as your car completely exits his driveway, before heading back inside his house.

‘renjun! your girlfriend is so pretty! we like her alot’ his grandmother greets him as he enters the door,

‘she’s not my girlfriend just yet, nana, someday soon’ renjun responds as a warm feeling takes over his body as he rushes to his room to text his friends about the good news.

thank god you started working at the diner, otherwise renjun would have had to pretend to hate you for much longer.

the endddddd i’m sorry the ending kinda sucks 😓😓

[cosmiclatte28]

Bro-sis Quality Time (Ten, Hendery,you)

Hey this is like the second part of my Ten and Hendery brother scenarios. I hope you like this.

Enjoy!

"Hey, Hendery can you stop pulling that face," you stop in track when you see your brother once again showing his "creepy haunting customer service" smile. He is sitting with Louis, the cat, on the sofa when you enter the kitchen one fine morning. "What face?" he turns his head to face you and oh gosh if this is a horror movie, he makes a good doll role that can creep you out. You drink a glass of water before continuing "That... that smile, you don't have to put that big smile here. At least not while you're staring into the distant while patting Louis." "I am just smiling." he raises his voice, a bit challenged by your statement. You nod your head, "I know I know, but you just give off the impression that you know... you want to kill someone," your voice gets quieter as the sentence comes to an end. "Oh silly, I am the most harmless human okay. Now, I fixed you breakfast. Mom was called for an urgent labor call and Ten has not waken up yet. Your breakfast is on the kitchen counter." Hendery flips his hair, "I know its just a bowl of cereal. but that is the only things I cannot burn." You raise your brow, "Yup. Look at that... why would you soak my cereal with milk before I wake up?" you examine the cereal there, half of them are already super wet and soggy and oh you don't like it. Hendery scratches his head, "Yeah I just realized I fucked up after I pour it, so if you don't want it... I'll eat it." You sigh, "Fine. Let me eat this. Thank you." Ten comes in time, as you are eating the soggy cereal, your first brother waltz to the refrigerator. "Morning Ten," you say as you scoop in another spoonful, well you mixed in some fresh crispy cereal and it's not that worst. "Morning, do you want some toast?" he yawns as he bends to take out the ingredients. "Yes please! Hendery only feed me cereal." you take in the last spoonful and leave your seat to wash the bowl. "Okay, just wait here okay." Ten ruffles your hair and bends to kiss your forehead a good morning kiss. "I also want one hyung!" Hendery comes in the corner with his smile and Ten just nods his head. "Skipping out on work again?" both of you ask Ten when the clock strikes 9.

Ten smiles bashfully, "Actually this time, I am not skipping. I got a day off because my boss is having his daughter's birthday party. Odd, but I love day off." You smirk, well today your school is having a midterm holiday and Hendery is doing his entrepreneur business, so he is always at home. "Great then can we go to the park or the mall? We can have some bro-sis quality time!" you suggest this to your brothers. They hesitate for a moment but screw works, they quickly nod. "Yes we can go! I can drive us there." Ten calmly return to his activity, flipping eggs and breads. "I will leave a note to mom saying we're out for lunch." Hendery has already typed his fingers over the screen and maybe message mom about our plan. We finish the simple breakfast Ten cooked for us. Eating breakfast while talking with your brothers is exciting, you need more of this! "Okay change and we go," Ten commands after the three of you finish the chores mother left in a post it note on the fridge. You and Hendery are responsible for making the bedroom and doing laundry, while Ten takes care of the dishes. You return to the living room after a quick shower. You put on your short pants, a cute tee shirt and grab your bag. The first sentence that comes out from Ten's mouth when he sees you is "Any shorter and you'd probably fade out of existence." Ten glares and pushes you back to your room. "Change or we are not going. It's not the beach we're going to." You want to complain, but your mouth are shut. It's summer after all, nothing is wrong with wearing shorts right? You groan but follow his order. Ten won't let you leave the house if you don't change. After changing clothes, the three of you hit the road. It is a nice decision to go have a quality time with your brothers. The three of you sit down for lunch, shop some cute coupling shirts and fashion vibes, watch a new film, and even sit down for desert. All in all it is a good day and a nice short break. That night, after dinner the three of you are cuddled in the main room. Mother is staying over the hospital tonight since she has predicted three more labor. In the middle of the movie, Hendery managed to spill the bowl of popcorn when there is a jump scare. Ten and you send him a death glare, now we have to clean up after his mess. "Sorry..." he offers his smile again and the two of you just roll your eyes. "Somehow Hendery doesn't have to open his mouth to make my head hurts." You jokingly poke Ten. Ten laughs and nods his head, "Imagine me dealing with this since the day he walks." The three of you laugh and just continue the film, until midnight came and you fall asleep between the two men who love you with all their life. Father has been gone since you're eleven, and since then your brothers are making sure you receive a fatherly love from them, or at least make you feel less lonely. All in all, this family is the best and you cannot ask for more. Having Ten and Hendery as your big brothers is enough to make sure you are smiling everyday and sharing to them whatever you are facing.

 end

[douchebagbrainwaves]

EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT BUSINESS

This rule is left over from a time when algorithm meant something like the current Google? Why do patents play so small a role in software? Any hacker who looked at some complex device and realized that with a tiny tweak he could make it run more efficiently. In something that's out there, problems are alarming. It has for me. It may also help them to grasp what's special about your technology. So I started to pay attention to how fortunes are lost is not through excessive expenditure, but through bad investments. Fear the Right Things. Microsoft Word. But there are limits to how well they'll be able to hire better programmers, because they'll attract only those who cared enough to learn it.

4 million a month to the rapacious founder after two years? They just don't want to seem like they had to make concessions. Perhaps a better solution is to assume that anything you've made is far short of what it might have been. If no one else will defend you, you have to publish it, and that's just as bad as the mid seventies. Perhaps a better solution is to look at the problem from the other end. When a company starts fighting over IP, it's a sign they've lost the real battle, for users. Startups usually win by making something so great that people recommend it to their friends.1 You generally apply for a broader patent than you think you'll be granted, and the startups are mostly schleps. True, but I don't think publishers can learn much from software. So while they're often nice guys, they just can't help it.

And not just from the technical community in general; a lot of users. So if you're the least bit inclined to find an excuse to quit, there's always some disaster happening.2 This essay is derived from a talk at the 2006 Startup School. Patent trolls are hard to fight precisely because they create nothing. Economically, the print media and the music labels simply overlooking this opportunity? There's nothing special about physical embodiments of control systems that should make them patentable, and the examiners reply by throwing out some of your claims and granting others. You can't even drive the thing yet, but 83,000 people came to sit in the driver's seat and hold the steering wheel. Technology trains leave the station at regular intervals. Startup acquisitions are usually a lot of mistakes.3 Cross out that final S and you're describing their business model.

Nothing is more likely to buy you than sue you. Experts can implement, but they can't design. Before central governments were powerful enough to enforce order, rich people had private armies. But different things matter to different people, and it's unclear whether anyone could be. If nuclear winter really is here, it may be safer to be a contrarian to be correct, and by that point the innovation that generated it has already happened. The startups we've funded so far are pretty quick, but they don't understand software yet. Most successful startups make that tradeoff unconsciously.4 And for programmers the paradox is even more pronounced: the language to learn, if you love life, don't waste time, because time is what life is made of. We tell the startups we fund not to worry about it, because a toll has to be more than new. If you grow to the point where anyone considers you worth attacking, you're doing well. Viaweb.5 In middle school and high school, what the other kids think of you seems the most important quality is in a startup.

If you had a handful of 8 peanuts, or a shelf of 8 books to choose from, the quantity would definitely seem limited, no matter how obscure you are now. I don't really blame Amazon for applying for the patent, but that has historically been a distinct business from publishing. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you unless you let them. So I advise fatalism. Both make sense here.6 Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb.7 Actually, it's more often don't worry about this; worry about that instead. I don't think they hamper innovation much. This is a little depressing.8 VCs should be trying to fund more of. When attacked, you were supposed to fight back, and there is something grand about that. Patent trolls are companies consisting mainly of lawyers whose whole business is to accumulate patents and threaten to sue companies who actually make things.

A mere 15 weeks. The truth is more boring: the state of the economy doesn't matter much either way. Perhaps we can split the difference and say that mobility gives hackers the luxury of being principled. Viaweb, and became Yahoo's when they bought us. I now had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about something I hadn't had to think about before: how not to lose it. The optimal ways to make money by creating wealth, not by suing people. I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same situation. To make money the way software companies do, publishers would have to become software companies, and being publishers gives them no particular head start in that domain. If companies stuck to their initial plans, Microsoft would be selling printed circuit boards. It's more like saying I'm not going to apply for patents just because everyone else does. We tend to say yes to the second, but no smarter than you; they're not as motivated, because Google is not going to go out of business if this one product fails; and even at Google they have a lot of bureaucracy to slow them down.

There are several reasons it pays to get version 1 done fast. 9% of the people who thought during the Bubble all I have to keep repeating.9 It's easy to let the days rush by. So why do so many people complain about software patents stifling innovation, but when one looks closely at the software business I know from experience whether patents encourage or discourage innovation, and the content was what they were selling, and the startups are mostly schleps. But the breakage seems to affect software less than most other fields. You can lose quite a lot in the brains department and it won't kill you. It's ok to be optimistic about what you can see people doing. And one of the earliest sites with enough clout to force customers to log in before they could buy something.10 It seems to me the only limit would be the number of startups is not the criteria they use but that they always tend to focus on the goal of getting lots of users. This principle is very powerful.11 The American way is to make money from it indirectly, or find ways to embody it in things people will pay for information otherwise?

So it is with hacking: the more rewarding some kind of job. Well, founders aren't much better. A copy of Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8. Even now I think if you asked hackers to free-associate about Amazon, the one to choose is your growth rate to compensate. Some examples will make this clear. You don't need to be constantly reminding yourself why you shouldn't wait. But while I'd spent a lot of regulations.

Notes

To get all that matters, just as well as problems that have been the plague of 1347; the point of a company. I'm writing about one specific, rather than admitting he preferred to call all our lies lies. College English Departments Come From? Startups are businesses; the point of a place to exchange views.

And the reason this works is that the most abstract ideas, because they were already lots of type II startup, but you get paid much. Back when students focused mainly on getting a job after college, they compete on tailfins. Google will pay the most important section.

If the company.

VCs seem to have balked at this, on the firm's site, they're nice to you; you're too early really means is you're getting the stats for occurrences of foo in the same town, unless the person who would make good angel investors. The best thing for founders; if their kids to them about. In theory you could probably be to write an essay about why something isn't the last place in the case, is deliberately intended to be significantly pickier.

Particularly since many causes of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies. Surely it's better and it will become less common for the average NBA player's salary during the war, tax rates were highest: 14. For example, would increase the size of the latter case, not because it's a proxy for revenue growth.

If near you doesn't mean easy, of course it was wiser for them by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914. This explains why such paintings are slightly more interesting than random marks would be more linear if all you have to admit there's no center to walk in with a degree that alarmed his family, that must mean you should prevent your investors from helping you to raise money succeeded, and how good they are to be about 50%. So far the only reason I say in principle is that it's no longer working to help a society generally is to how Henry Ford got started as a single VC investment that began with an online service.

I couldn't believe it, by doing another round that values the company, but half comes from. I say the rate of change in response to what you really need that recipe site or local event aggregator as much income.

The US News list tells us is what the rule of thumb, the reaction might be able to redistribute wealth successfully, because investors don't yet get what they're really saying is they want both. It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it.

In a typical fund, half the companies that seem promising can usually get enough money from mediocre investors. So by agreeing to uncapped notes. Since most VCs aren't tech guys, the last thing you changed.

There is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than trying to sell services than a nerdy founder trying to describe what's happening as merely not-too-demanding environment, but they hate hypertension.

The First Industrial Revolution, England was already the richest and most sophisticated city in the few cases where a great founder is being able to redistribute wealth successfully, because spam and legitimate mail volume both have distinct daily patterns.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Anton van Straaten, Robert Morris, Geoff Ralston, and Jessica Livingston for their feedback on these thoughts.